Puck meets a girl
by Fearsome Light
Summary: This story is PuckOC romance and so much more. Read to find out.
1. Chapter 1 Strangers in the Night

_Disclaimer:I don't own gargoyles_

**Puck Meets Girl**

**Chapter 1 "Strangers in the Night" **

Owen Burnett slumped somewhat unhappily in his chair. It was unlike him to display a mood one way or another, but on this particular evening his more mercurial nature seemed to be seeping through. He scowled dejectedly at the seat beside him, empty but for the topcoat he hadn't bothered to check. Owen wondered again how he had been convinced to take the Xanatos box seat tickets and leave the loving couple alone with their son. He knew, of course, that it was his unfailing devotion to duty. Xanatos had insisted and he had obliged as he always did. Still, once at the theater the empty chair beside him had inexplicably annoyed him. There had been a time when such a thing would have seemed ridiculous to him. Now, however, his enforced mortality left him vulnerable to mortal flaws - and right now he felt unbearably alone. A young couple cuddling in the box seats across from his seemed the last straw. As the house lights dimmed and the orchestra began its overture he grabbed his coat and rose to leave. Three hours roaming the streets of New York would give the Xanatos family their time alone and be far preferable to this. He had just reached the bottom of the stairs to the lobby when he heard the explosion.

Miranda Templeton listened to the overture behind the curtain in her spot center stage. Nervously, she

blocked out her first moves once the curtain rose. It was perhaps no more than five seconds of featured

dancing before she spun into oblivion with the rest of the chorus of CATS, but it would be the audience's first impression of the show and first impressions were important. Grandfather always said so, and he would

know.

Hearing the music approach the climatic moment when the curtain would rise, she moved back into position

striking her pose. Then, answering some unknown instinct that often guided her, she looked up.

The weighted fly was already falling towards her head, but she rolled out of the way with the graceful quickness her dancer's training allowed. A couple of her fellow cast members screamed, the music stammered to a halt. It was then that she heard the explosion. Pieces of set and debris fell about her and she heard the unmistakable crackle of a rapidly building fire. Knowing the old wooden theater didn't stand a chance; she raised her head to get some bearings. The fire was taking the curtain up in its own destructive way and thick smoke coming from the wings suggested that exiting stage right or left would result in disaster. Crawling through the debris on stage, Miranda found the mark she was looking for. Pressing a button, she released the secret hatch and dropped below the stage.

Upon hearing the explosion, Owen paused outside the orchestra doors. Ushers were already looking in and he easily slipped past them into the theater. The curtain was just beginning to burn and the excited audience was predictably climbing over their seats to get to the nearest exit. It wasn't easy working against that sort

of traffic; but Owen found his curiosity over the source of the blast drawing him towards the stage. Standing at

the edge of the orchestra pit, he commented wryly, "This is a much more interesting show than I expected."

He heard the strange popping noise just as a black gloved arm reached up and pulled him over the rail into

the pit. He stood up among a jumble of fallen music stands and overturned chairs about to dress down his

assailant when a burning wooden beam fell directly where he had been standing.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" a feminine voice queried.

Owen adjusted his glasses with his good hand and peered in the direction of the voice. At first, the feline

silhouette made him think it was Maggie Reed; but this strangely compelling figure affected him in a way the

mutate woman never had. Then he remembered the black glove; and the woman moved closer revealing herself to be a costumed member of the cast. She was staring at his stone hand curiously.

"Nice prosthetic," she commented, "how do you keep from dragging it on the ground?"

Owen squared his shoulders, "I have excellent posture," he replied.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, "more like an iron rod up your..."

Her crass comment was cut short by a larger beam falling towards the pit.

"Damn," she cursed under her breath and reaching out dragged Owen further back.

"No getting out back that way," she muttered pulling Owen through a side door. They emerged in what he

supposed was the orchestra's cloak room and out a door marked "exit" into a side alley. Flashing lights from

the main street told them the police and fire departments had responded to the disaster.

Miranda, glowing at her clever escape whispered a reminder to herself, "it always pays to befriend the

stage crew and orchestra."

Turning to her straight-laced fellow survivor she asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he responded simply, "who ARE you?"

"'I am that merry wanderer of the night,'" she quoted turning towards the main street.

Owen froze and looked after her with some surprise, "what?"

"It's Shakespeare," she replied over her shoulder, beckoning him to follow, "Puck in A MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT DREAM - shouldn't you know this better than I?"

Owen started striding towards her, the hair on the back of his neck prickling, "what do you mean by that?"

"Only that you are obviously a Harvard or Oxford man undoubtedly well-versed in Shakespeare, whereas I am a lowly New York chorus girl."

Had she been watching, she would have seen Owen physically relax before closing the remaining distance between them.

"Don't put words in other people's mouths," he advised.

"Of course," she challenged, "you weren't at all surprised to hear me quote Shakespeare."

Unable to explain what had surprised him about the quote, Owen remained stiffly silent.

Triumphant, Miranda smiled and stepped into the chaos of the main street. Despite the nearby fire, she found her thin body suit scant protection against the night air and shivered.

"Whatever happened to 'the lusty month of May?'" she quipped.

"Allow me," her companion surprised her by dropping the raincoat he had been carrying over her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said pulling the coat more tightly around her, "this will protect my dignity a bit on the way home, too, since I doubt I'll ever see the clothes I wore in today."

She looked over at the crowd of spectators and survivors wrapped in blankets and being interviewed by police and press.

"Ugh! If I ever get home," she made a face, "I guess I'll have to do my civic duty and make a statement. Look, thanks again for the coat, I promise to return it."

"You don't know who I am," Owen protested as she headed towards the center of the crowd.

She turned back towards him, "of course I do, Mr. Burnett," she pointed in the air where the Xanatos private helicopter was approaching, "I read Shakespeare and watch the news!"

Then she turned and effectively melted into the crowd.

"Owen!" Xanatos exclaimed, breaking his assistant's mind out of a strange reverie stepping off a ladder descending from the helicopter.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine, sir," Owen replied, then seeing Fox waving from the pilot's seat, he asked sharply, "Where is Alexander?"

"With the clan, of course. Relax, Owen, I wouldn't leave my son with just anyone, even for you."

Catching sight of the pair beneath the hovering copter, Detective Elisa Maza broke away from the gaggle of police informing her partner, "Matt, I'll take care of this."

"Detective," Xanatos greeted her.

"All right, Xanatos, what's going on?" she demanded.

"Fox and I heard of the fire on the news and came to ensure Owen survived."

"You were at the theater?" Elisa looked at Owen shocked.

Rather than respond to the remark, Owen merely informed her, "There was a bomb on the stage."

"Are you sure?" Elisa asked.

He stared icily down at her through his glasses.

"Okay, you're sure," she nodded, "I'll have someone check it out. Anything else?"

"No," Owen said though he wondered if she had noticed a black and silver costumed woman wearing a man's raincoat.

"Right, I'll stop by later in case you think of anything..." Elisa didn't bother adding that she also would be briefing the gargoyles, "Now get your copter out of here before you shake these people up even more."

"Anything you say, Detective," Xanatos agreed smoothly.

The two men dangled from the ladder as Fox lifted up to head for home.

"In the future, sir, I think it would be better if you and Fox attended the theater," Owen commented as they finished the climb into the helicopter.

Xanatos laughed merrily and Owen glanced out the window searching in vain for his raincoat.

He did not notice two cloaked figures watching the fire from the top of a nearby building.

"You missed," one chastised the other.

"I was only testing her gifts - she's extremely unskilled," the other defended.

"Perhaps you should forget it. We can secure victory without this distraction."

"This isn't about our victory - just about my revenge."

Continued...


	2. Chapter 2 Up on the Roof

**Puck Meets Girl**

**Chapter 2 "Up on the Roof"**

"Mr. Xanatos, sir, there's a woman here asking for Mr. Burnett."

"For Owen?" David Xanatos exchanged a curious glance with his personal assistant and raised an eyebrow back at the video screen and a somewhat nervous security guard, "who is she?"

"She says her name is Miranda Templeton," the security guard said, "Actually, she asked for the good-looking blond stick in the mud with glasses and a stone hand."

"Well, that sounds like Owen, but...Good looking?" Xanatos asked, this time raising an eyebrow at his assistant, "Owen, is there something you're not telling me?"

Owen adjusted his glasses, "No, sir, I assure you."

"Well, then let's have a look at her, shall we?" Xanatos pointed a remote at the far wall of his office where a panel slid back revealing several monitors showing various scenes in the Aerie building. Another button pressed and screens combined to form one large picture of a woman leaning against the lobby's front desk. She was simply dressed in jeans and an ivory colored knit blouse. Her hair was short and dark and her expression a strange combination of boredom and nerves. Xanatos looked back at Owen expectantly.

"Anything?"

"I don't recall...ah," Owen's denial was cut short as an image flashed to him of the sleek woman in the black cat suit, "I'll take care of it, sir."

"I expect you to explain all this, Owen," Xanatos pressed.

"Of course, sir," Owen replied exiting the office.

"Someone will be with you momentarily, ma'am," the security guard informed her.

Miranda sighed with relief. She was beginning to think she would have to leave the package with the guard. Not returning the overcoat in person would have been extremely unsatisfying - besides not assuring that it would in fact be returned, she wouldn't be able to satisfy this strange urge to see Owen Burnett. She rolled he eyes and silently mocked herself, 'You always were a sucker for a guy in a tux, Miranda, no matter how stiff and arrogant.' Of course, she reminded herself, the guard had said "someone" would be with her - not "Mr. Burnett." Miranda was beginning to think this whole thing was a mistake.

"Ms. Templeton, I presume?" the dry voice behind her brought a small smile to Miranda's lips as she turned to greet Owen Burnett.

"Miranda will do," she said reaching out to shake his hand, "silly of me not to think of introducing myself the other night."

"The situation was...unique," he replied graciously.

She smiled appreciatively, "thank you but my Grandfather always says there's no excuse for rudeness."

She had a beautiful smile, Owen found himself thinking. The other night, her cat costume had left little to the imagination; but the fact that her body was incredible seemed something to be taken for granted. She was a dancer after all. Still, all the make-up, which had so effectively transformed her into a feline, had obscured an impressive natural beauty. The fabulous smile was framed by a perfect Cupid's bow mouth and reached all the way to her dancing eyes. Her short black hair framed a creamy flawless complexion, except for a pale dusting of freckles across her slightly upturned nose. Judging from her coloring, she probably had Celtic heritage; he was seldom wrong about these things. The characteristic analytical thought broke him out of the very uncharacteristic thoughts. His ice blue eyes met her dancing turquoise ones.

"You're thinking how different I look without all that greasepaint," she observed.

"In a manner of speaking," he agreed, it was partially true and it didn't seem wise to admit that he was really thinking how beautiful she was without her make-up.

"Well, aside from trading a tuxedo for a suit, you look pretty much the same."

'The good-looking blond stick in the mud.' Echoed in Owen's thoughts and he wondered if looking the same was a good thing or a bad thing.

"That's a good thing," she said casually as if reading his mind.

An eyebrow raised behind his glasses, "thank you," he said hesitantly.

"Don't mention it," she smiled radiantly, or so she hoped; not that he would have noticed. Give it up, Miranda, she told herself. With her plain sweater and worn jeans, she wasn't really at her most seductive. Still, the subtle flirtations she was attempting now had felled at least one accounting major back in college. 'Either I'm losing it or it'll take more than a smile,' she thought, not letting the 'he's not interested' option enter her mind -- much. Either way, this had been her one chance to see if the strange chemistry she felt the other night was worth pursuing; and although it was still there, she wasn't at all convinced it wasn't just one sided. Get on with business, she told herself.

"Anyway, here's your coat - thank you again," she handed him a covered hangar, continuing, "I had it dry cleaned so it wouldn't smell like me."

Owen could catch traces of her fragrance from where he stood, a combination of evergreens and spring flowers, like a woodland nymph. He thought of the unpleasant scent of dry-cleaning chemicals. Pity, he thought.

"That wasn't necessary," he said.

"Maybe not, but it seemed the thing to do. Usually, I don't do THAT thing. I'm almost always acting on strange impulses and doing the completely wrong thing. Oh! That reminds me!"

She started rummaging through her shoulder bag and for a wild moment, Owen thought she was going to produce the dry-cleaning bill. She surprised him even more by pulling out a gift-wrapped package.

"This is really crazy; but there's a classic bookstore right next to my dry-cleaner's and I wandered in and found myself buying this for no apparent reason. It's a beautifully illustrated book of fairy tales. It's a keepsake, to be sure, but really for a child and I realized after I bought it, that I don't know any children. So then the clerk asks if I want it wrapped and I'm holding your coat from the cleaners and I remember your boss has a baby. So I thought..." Miranda broke off - she was babbling like an idiot. She WAS an idiot! She should have just dropped the coat off with security and disappeared. Well, maybe she could salvage some dignity now.

"Look," she thrust the book into his startled hands, "give it to the kid or not. Gotta run."

"She turned quickly on her heels and took two long strides towards the door before his voice halted her.

"Miss Templeton."

She turned back around warily. He had an odd look in his unreadable eyes.

"I'm sure Alexander will enjoy the book," he told her.

That smile again, though this time with a trace of self-mockery.

"I hope so," Miranda said, "I'm sorry if I'm a bit erratic. Artistic temperament and all... I find trying to put one of my impulses into words always makes it sound more ridiculous than it felt at the time..." she half-laughed, "here I go again. Maybe I should just say good bye while I'm somewhat ahead."

She put forth her hand for one last shake and as he took it said, "Ciao, Robin Goodfellow."

He gripped her hand more tightly, "What?"

Miranda paused; not that she had a choice with his vise like grip on her hand. At least it was a reaction, but to what?

"What?" she echoed both his words and her thoughts.

"What did you call me?" he asked.

It took a moment to recall and then she half-laughed, "Oh! You mean Robin Goodfellow? Boy, you really DO need to 'Brush up your Shakespeare!' It's another name for Puck in A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"What? You don't like my wonderful sense of irony?"

"Irony?" his grip on her hand loosened.

"Yes, you're nothing like the trouble making fun-lover and yet the name still suits you. You know, it's very

respectable, noble and solid sounding."

"I see," Owen relaxed and released her hand. He wondered if this woman had any idea how close her whimsical nature brought her to the truth. He knew better than to shrug if off as coincidence; but felt fairly sure that her insights were harmless, for now.

The meeting was over, Miranda sensed. Ah well, maybe one over-long handshake was all she could really hope for. Too bad this wasn't a dress rehearsal - she smiled secretively thinking of how she'd play the scene if she got a second chance.

"Well," she sighed, "off to the cattle calls for the out of work actors whose theaters get blown up." With a wave, she was gone.

"Well, Owen?" Xanatos' voice was expectant and amused.

"Ms. Templeton is the actress who led me from the burning theater last Saturday evening. She was returning my raincoat," Owen's matter-of-fact explanation was simple and to the point, but hardly satisfactory.

Xanatos observed his assistant carefully. Owen's mood fluctuations were imperceptible to those who didn't know him - but several years of working together had given David the edge. His normally implacable friend was staring out the office window with an ever-so-slight frown at his brow.

"Something troubling you, Owen?" Xanatos prodded.

"She...knew me," Owen said still staring.

"Knew you? How so?"

Owen turned back to his boss, almost completely himself again, "Probably nothing sir. She called me Robin Goodfellow on a whim - and she quoted Puck to me the other night as well."

"Strange, indeed, should we be worried?" It was Xanatos' turn to furrow his brow. Anyone knowing Owen's alter ego could also be aware of Alexander's heritage and therefore exploit it.

"I don't believe so, sir. Her explanation was innocent enough. Apparently she is a fan of Shakespeare - she is an actress after all. Probably a harmless coincidence."

David's eyes narrowed, "Perhaps, but I know you wouldn't have given it this much thought if you believed it was a true coincidence."

He leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers against each other before his chest, "I think it would be best to learn all we can about this Miranda Templeton."

"If you say so, sir," Owen's look was unreadable, even to Xanatos.

"Hey, Gramps! I'm going to the roof!" Miranda burst into the apartment she shared with her grandfather and

dropped her bags in her room, Swinging by the kitchen for a soda before heading back towards the door.

"You know I hate when you call me that!" her grandfather slammed the book he was reading closed and looked up at her from the living area.

Miranda diverted from her b-line to the door to swoop down on the still seated old man and kissing his forehead, "It's the younger generation's duty to annoy our elders," she informed him tartly.

He looked up at her only slightly mollified, "I've taught you better than to spout that generational garbage." His stormy blue eyes examined her closely, "why the roof?"

She shrugged innocently.

"It's a beautiful night, Grandfather. I just want to appreciate it."

"Bah!" he grouched, "I know you, my dear, when your career's in the dumps you go to the museum and when your romantic life is bothering you, it's up to the roof. Who is it this time?"

"No one, Grandfather," Miranda asserted. She refused to believe she had fallen for a guy after two brief un-encouraging meetings. Even with an artist's soul she was more practical than that, "I just want to sort a couple of things out."

The old man looked skeptical, but he did, indeed know his granddaughter. She would tell him everything in her own time.

On the roof of her apartment building, Miranda had an excellent view of the Aerie. What was it like living in

that castle above the clouds overlooking all of Manhattan? Did Owen Burnett appreciate that kind of poetic existence or was he merely an automaton of the powerful and charismatic David Xanatos? Her instincts told her that there were some fascinating inner facets to the ice-cold exterior; and she was never wrong. That wasn't conceit; to date, her instincts had never steered her wrong, it was hereditary. Still, it didn't matter now. Whatever more there was to the stony Mr. Burnett, he hadn't seemed willing to share it with her even a little bit and she doubted she would ever see him again. Sighing, she swung her feet around from where she had been dangling them over the edge of the building. A bright flashing light from the roof across the way startled her and drew her attention. In that brief moment of distraction, a small shove in the small of her back sent her toppling from her precarious position over the edge of the building.

Though she wasn't sure what good it would do, Miranda called out for help and closed her eyes willing herself to stop falling. Amazingly, she did.

"Not to worry, love, I've got you," an unfamiliar accented voice soothed.

Miranda's eyes flew open and she found herself in the lionesque arms of a smiling winged beast. At least, it seemed like his eagle beak was smiling. Looking down, Miranda saw that they were several stories up and climbing - recognizing a good thing when she saw it, she smiled back at the beast.

"Thank you!" she gasped out.

"Don't mention it," he shrugged, throwing her off-balance enough to fling her arms around his neck.

"Oops, sorry about that, let's land, shall we?" he glided down to the building where she had seen the blinding light and, landing, set her down.

"I'm Griff," he said holding out a paw-hand.

"Miranda," she shook it, "you're not a New York Gargoyle are you?"

He brightened, "You know the Gargoyles?"

"Not personally, no, but they've gotten a lot of press this past year. They're supposed to live over there if you're visiting," she pointed towards Castle Wyvern on top of the Aerie thinking ironically of how she had just been studying it and why.

"No, I'm here on a different quest," he responded, "I'm surprised the spell brought us here again."

"Us?"

Griff looked embarrassed at the slip, "I mean...er..."

"It's all right, Sir Griff," a calm authoritative voice announced, "I think we can trust this lady."

Miranda reeled to see a startling figure. A noble-faced man in medieval armor complete with the most magnificent sword she'd ever seen. He bowed in a sweeping gesture and in her jeans she did a poor imitation of a curtsey.

"Miranda," Griff was saying, "this is King Arthur Pendragon."

"Arthur Pendragon?" Miranda looked from one to the other, "I know England's in a bad way these days, particularly the royals, but... is it really their direst need? I mean --shouldn'' you still be asleep on Avalon?"

"I was awakened early due to the needs of Avalon itself," Arthur explained briefly, plainly surprised by her comment.

"Oh, of course, that explains it," Miranda nodded, not sure how to respond.

"You doubt my veracity?" he asked her.

She considered for a moment before realizing, "No, actually, I'm quite certain you are Arthur of Camelot. I have pretty good instincts and I've learned to trust them - it's just - this is a lot for a girl to absorb after falling off a building..."

"Of course," Arthur patted her shoulder and, looking about the rooftop, steered her towards some lawn furniture someone had left there, "Come, sit down and we'll tell you our story."

Miranda smiled up at him, "I can hardly wait."

The knighted Gargoyle and the true King of England recounted their meeting and first trip to Manhattan to retrieve Excalibur. Arthur brandished the famous sword for Miranda who examined the hilt with more scrutiny than expected.

"We have been looking for my mentor, Merlin, ever since," Arthur admitted, "not nearly as successfully and I agree with Sir Griff that a return to Manhattan is odd..."

"Well, maybe you just came to save my life," Miranda cracked.

Man and Gargoyle exchanged an odd glance.

"Oh come on! I was joking - my life doesn't have a whole lot of significance in the grand scheme of things."

"All life is precious," Griff contradicted her.

"My knight is right, dear lady," agreed Arthur, "and yours may be more dear than you can imagine now."

Miranda shifted uncomfortably under the King's warm gaze. Although she adored being the center of attention while on stage, attention and anything approaching a compliment in any other venue always left her feeling slightly awkward.

"I know what you're thinking, Your Majesty," she protested, "but I am not as ignorant of my heritage as you once were."

"You know of my childhood also?" Arthur was surprised.

"Well, some, I guess - there's a lot that's speculation, but plenty has been written about you; and I guess I've read more than my share of it," Miranda admitted somewhat shyly.

He smiled back and the carefree boy he once was reflected in his eyes, "I feel closer to Merlin already. You see, you are essential to my quest, I'm certain of it."

"Just because I know a little Arthurian legend doesn't mean I can find Merlin," Miranda protested, "How can you be sure he isn't still trapped in a tree somewhere?"

"Ah yes, we read that legend," Arthur waved his hand in a royal dismissal, "I refuse to believe Merlin would have been permanently disabled in such a way."

"He was fairly powerful, but still a man with the vulnerabilities of all men," Miranda said with gentle thoughtfulness.

"I know all too well the vulnerabilities you speak of, Lady Miranda," Arthur sighed, a shadow passed over his eyes, "Still, I feel certain Merlin is alive and free, and closer now than ever before."

Miranda sighed and straightened her shoulders determinedly, "Well, if I'm going to help you find him I guess we have to come up with a plan."

"That's the spirit, milady," Griff clasped her shoulder.

The three began discussing Arthurian legend and theories of Merlin's whereabouts. Miranda emphasized metropolitan survival indicating Arthur's need for a new wardrobe. As they discussed, two hooded figures watched from Miranda's building.

"You told me she was untalented," a reedy masculine voice accused from under one hood.

"Unskilled, not untalented," a woman's thin voice corrected, "the difference is control."

"Well, she's out of control. That's twice you've failed with her and now it's too late."

"Her role in this is not confirmed as yet - until it is I can still destroy her."

"In that case, perhaps we should concentrate on the boy - I should not have let you get so wrapped up in a personal vendetta."

The woman's laugh approached the high-pitched grating of a hag's cackle.

"My dear boy, this whole plan is based on nothing if not vengeance."

"Then why bother waiting - kill them both now, and the Gargoyle too."

"No, if magic is involved in her death it will alert the others and her role will be secured. It must appear to be an accident until our plan is complete. I will not be discovered before my time of choosing."

"In that case, we should depart - they're returning to this roof."

The figures melted into shadow just before Griff landed setting down the two humans.

"So come here for dinner tomorrow night and meet my Grandfather," Miranda insisted.

"Are you sure it's wise to include the old man?" Arthur asked warily.

"Trust me, sir," Miranda assured, "Grandfather is an amazingly well educated man. He raised me single-handedly and my character is a reflection of his. He's absolutely essential to helping you find Merlin - I'm sure of it."

"If you say so, milady," Arthur agreed, although still with some skepticism.

"Trust me, sire," she repeated with a fond smile.

He smiled in return, "Tomorrow evening after sunset?"

"I'll meet you two up here," she assured, dashing back down to her apartment in her eagerness to share the news with her Grandfather.

"A noble lady, indeed, is she not, Sir Griff?" Arthur asked watching her leave.

"Yes, sire," Griff agreed, glad to see such appreciation and hope in his King's eyes, "where to now, then?"

"I think we should seek out Macbeth. He promised aid when I needed it - and he may be able to provide some assistance."

"Do you really think you can trust him?" Griff asked skeptically.

"Macbeth has been misguided at times, but he's a man of honor in his heart - I do trust him."

"Macbeth's it is, then, Sire," Griff agreed, sweeping up the King and taking off from the roof.

Below, Miranda burst excitedly into her apartment, her mind racing, "Grandfather!"

"Sort everything out?" he asked without lowering his tome.

"What?"

"The man problem," he reminded her.

"Oh, that," she sighed, "not really - he doesn't seem interested in me and I doubt I'll ever see him again so I guess it's sorted itself out."

"We'll see. Why don't you tell me about it anyway?" he coaxed.

"Look, I'll admit I'm pretty self-absorbed and ordinarily I would like nothing better than to moan to you about my miserable failures with men - but before I get into that I need to tell you about what happened when I fell off the roof."

The old man looked over the book, giving her all his attention for a moment, "fell off the roof?"

"Yes, you know, at first I thought somebody pushed me, but there wasn't anybody there."

"Which doesn't prove anything," her grandfather pointed out, "however did you survive the fall?"

"A gargoyle caught me," she watched for reaction and was disappointed to see him shrug and turn back to his book.

"Lucky one was in the area - if you believe in luck. You wouldn't have needed it if you'd listen to me..."

"Spare me the lectures, Grandfather, I'd rather be lucky and enjoy the roof than live inside, risk nothing and be safe -- anyway, it wasn't a New York Gargoyle."

"They're from Scotland," he corrected her.

"Then it wasn't a Scottish Gargoyle," Miranda was getting exasperated with her Grandfather's blasé attitude, "This one was newly arrived from England."

"They're rare, but not uncommon."

"In New York?"

"Perhaps he's a late colonist."

"Grandfather," Miranda played her trump card, "he was sent here by the Stone of Destiny...with King Arthur."

The book closed, the old man looked up. Miranda smiled triumphantly at getting his full attention. She lounged on the sofa adjacent to his chair waiting for his response. He mulled the revelation over for a moment.

"The timing seems wrong," he commented.

"There was some sort of trouble on Avalon - it released him from his sleep. Apparently he was in town a year or so ago to retrieve Excalibur - you remember the Dragon Statue in the park?"

The old man nodded thoughtfully, "Very interesting, it does explain a lot. So why is he back?"

"He's looking for Merlin."

"Of course, sensible of him, I suppose," A far away look reflected in the old man's eyes and he absently opened his book, though reading seemed the last thing he intended to do.

Miranda bit her lib nervously before adding, "I told him we'd help him."

Her grandfather was back in the present instantaneously, "Oh you did, did you?"

She straightened in her seat squaring off defiantly, "Yes, he's coming to dinner tomorrow night."

"Cancel it."

"I have no way of doing that - and I wouldn't anyway."

"I won't help you in this endeavor."

"Grandfather, what about my duty to the true King of England?"

"You're not English."

Miranda sighed, "Will you please just meet him at dinner?"

"Miranda, if you choose to help Arthur, that's your decision, I respect that - but I refuse to get involved."

"You stubborn old goat - that makes it twice as difficult for me."

"More than that, I hope," the old man grinned almost impishly, "Now, tell me about this young man - the choreographer or dance captain at auditions today, no doubt."

The topic of Arthur Pendragon was officially dropped, Miranda realized. She only hoped she could pique her Grandfather's interest later. In the mean time, focusing on her problems was a common pastime of theirs. After her parents died, Miranda had been more or less a scared and lonely child. She as introverted and shy as a little girl could be when her maternal grandfather, Marcus Emory, had taken her in and gently comforted her. He opened up worlds that sophisticated educated people knew about: Ballet, opera, museums, literature, and, of course, Broadway. During her angst ridden teen years, they had slowly developed a ritual. The more dire the problem, the more he scoffed at it until she found the humor in it too. With his help, she had managed to gracefully transition from awkward girl to exuberant and cultivated woman. Now she looked forward to sharing her life with Marcus - whom even now she considered her best friend.

"No, Grandfather, far from it, in fact. That last painter was such a disappointment. I'm erring on the side of no artistic tendencies whatsoever - unless you count being a good dresser," she added wryly.

"The show's business manager, then?" he ventured.

"No," she said with exasperation, "forget the twenty questions, Grandfather, you'll never guess. His name is Owen Burnett. He's the personal assistant of David Xanatos. I met him when CATS went up in flames."

"Well, that certainly is unique for you - even for a conservative phase."

"I know!" Miranda agreed, "and it's even more insane than usual because he's so completely closed off. I never knew a spark could be completely one-sided; but he just wasn't interested at all."

"Don't take it personally, Miranda. You've ample proof through the years that men find you attractive. Maybe this one just doesn't like women in general."

"Grandfather," Miranda said patiently, "in my line of work I've become pretty good at picking out gay men; and he's not."

He snorted, "Actors! A monkey could pick out a gay one."

"Don't forget I've met their lawyer and banker boyfriends," Miranda asserted, "I know whereof I speak."

"It isn't what I meant, anyway. Maybe he's a plain old misogynist."

Miranda snorted self-derisively, "I can see us now on the next Riki Lake: 'Men who hate women and the women who love them.'"

She struck a dramatic pose on the sofa, leaning back with the back of one hand pressed to her forehead. In that position, she didn't see her grandfather's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She could have guessed his expression from the tone of his next question.

"You love him?"

Miranda dropped her hand and shifted to her side so she could face him.

"No, Grandfather, I'm just making fun of those talk shows."

"Still, why not say, 'the women who chase them,' or 'the women who pine for them?'"

"'Pine for?'" Miranda scoffed at the archaic term, "Grandfather PLEASE! How would that spring into my head before the word love?"

"Because, Miranda, 'love' is a rare word in your vocabulary."

"It is not, Grandfather - I use it all the time."

"Song lyrics don't count, my dear," Marcus declared. Then, before she could utter another protest he added, "and neither does loving me. This is serious, I think. Tell me exactly how you met."

Miranda sighed, hopelessly, "Grandfather, really, it's no big deal. He loaned me his coat outside the theater because I was cold in just my costume - I had it dry-cleaned and returned it today and -- well, just nothing. I'm hardly going to be wheeling and dealing it in the corporate world and I doubt very much he'll be attending a bunch of shows or lurking about back stage doors so -- that's it."

She shrugged uncaringly, then rose and walked to her room.

Marcus Emory watched her with concern and skepticism. Despite many romances, Miranda had never even casually referred to herself as being in love before. In fact, it had always been a source of major concern for her that attraction faded so quickly and left her cold. She had many times wondered if she were incapable of love - if her standards were impossible to meet. Marcus had assured her what he had known from her birth: She had a great destiny ahead of her and it would take a very special man indeed to be a part of it. Marcus determined that he would have to discover who this Owen Burnett was and if he was worthy of his granddaughter.

Continued...

I need reviews to continue the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3 One Fine Day

**Puck Meets Girl**

**Chapter 3 "One Fine Day"**

"But how do you know you can trust this woman, my friend?" Macbeth asked Arthur.

The two were enjoying early morning coffee together at Macbeth's estate, with a stony Griff secure on the inner wall. The King and his Gargoyle-knight had arrived just before dawn to a surprised but welcoming Macbeth. After getting Griff settled, Macbeth had invited Arthur in. Now, Arthur had relayed the events of his first night back in New York and the lady Miranda's kind offer to help him find Merlin.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Arthur countered to his comrade.

"Touché, your Majesty," Macbeth acquiesced, "but I'd still advise caution tonight at dinner."

"Have you always been this suspicious, Macbeth," Arthur asked.

"My experience has taught me to be," Macbeth said regretfully, "I didn't spend my years of life engulfed in a dream -- I lived a hard life full of betrayals."

The bitter jibe made it's mark - Macbeth looked at the stunned king of England and sighed with regret, "I'm sorry my friend. That was uncalled for."

Arthur put a comforting hand on the other King's shoulder, "No, you're right - my life has been too much out of the world; and yours has been too much in it, I think. Still, It is up to men like us to make the dream a reality."

Macbeth chuckled ruefully, "Camelot will rise again, eh? You are a dreamer, Arthur -- and a true King. I will do what I can to help you."

"Thank you, Macbeth, you are a good man. What I most need now is some suitable 20th century clothing."

"Ah yes, for your date with the fair Miranda," Macbeth teased.

"Date?"

Macbeth laughed, "Never mind, I'll explain it while we outfit you with something suitable."

David Xanatos took a deep cleansing breath, "Nothing like a nice stroll in the park with one's family on a lovely spring day, eh Owen?"

"Yes, Mr. Xanatos, sir," Owen agreed. He was following closely behind the Xanatos family, allowing himself enough of a cheat to heighten his senses to their surroundings. Not that the day presented much of a threat to Young Alexander, but it never hurt to err on the side of caution. That, he convinced himself, was why a certain jogger had caught his attention and he now watched her with keen interest. Her appearance could not be coincidental. Pondering on that he noticed something else alerting him to sudden danger.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, tucking his glasses in his breast pocket and dashing off.

David exchanged glances with his wife and followed at a slower pace with the stroller, curious and cautious.

Miranda was stretching against a lamppost on what she thought was the safer side of the sidewalk when she heard the screeching tires. She had no time to react when she looked up and saw the car careening towards her. Luckily, she didn't need to. Another body tackled hers, carrying her out of range of the car and landing uncomfortably in the mud and grass beyond.

"Oh, that's gonna leave a mark," she groaned as her savior stood up above her.

"I'm sorry, are you all right?"

Lying face down in the mud, feeling scratched and bruised, having just escaped a fatal accident, Miranda knew she should be miserable; but the sound of that rarely heard but now familiar dry voice sent her heart soaring. She turned and sat up with a smile on her face.

"I'm fine, besides feeling like the stuntwoman in the 'Perils of Pauline' movies," she cracked taking his proffered hand and letting him help her stand. Face to face with him she added, "We've got to stop meeting like this."

Strictly speaking, they had only met three times, and only one of the other two seemed even remotely "like this;" but it sounded good, if cliché, and Miranda loved to have good lines. He didn't comment and instead went about the business of straightening his clothes and putting his glasses back on.

"Not a scratch," she observed, then looking down at herself she winced at the large scratches on her thigh oozing blood and purpling the surrounding skin, "sorry I can't say the same."

"I am sorry," Owen began but she held up her hand.

"A small price for my life. It's lucky for me that you happened to be here," Miranda continued to brush herself off, then looked up at Owen curiously, "How did you happen to be here?"

He cleared his throat (did she imagine it, or did his skin even go ever so slightly pink?), "I am out walking with the Xanatos family."

"Your boss?" Miranda asked incredulous.

"Yes."

"You live for your job, don't you?" the question was rhetorical and not quite fair, she realized. When she was working, she basically ate, slept and breathed theater. She didn't have a chance to retract, however, as a handsome couple was approaching with a stroller in between them, and she saw enough news to know who they were.

"Owen?" Mr. Xanatos managed to convey the question, 'what is going on?' by simply speaking his assistant's name.

Miranda had to admire Mr. Burnett's unflappability. He quite coolly and professionally responded, without any trace of the guilty hand-in-the cookie jar feelings that she couldn't shake.

"Mr. and Mrs. Xanatos, may I present Miss Miranda Templeton," he introduced.

Suddenly, Miranda found herself shaking hands with the richest man in New York, and quite possibly the world. He was smiling charmingly.

"Miss Templeton, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

FINALLY? 'What did he mean by that?' she wondered glancing at Owen, but not even getting a hint of a blush this time. Mentally shrugging she decided to match charm with charm and smiled in what she hoped was a winning way.

"Thank you, sir, I'm only glad to have lived long enough to oblige, thanks to Owen."

"Yes, he's a very handy fellow to have around," Xanatos agreed, and Miranda was glad to see he so obviously appreciated Owen.

'As if it's any of my business,' she thought, shifting her weight and wincing at the pains in her bruised and scraped body.

"Are you all right?" the concerned question came from Mrs. Xanatos.

"Oh sure," Miranda shrugged off her discomforts, "nothing a hot shower won't fix, really."

"Well, then, let's get you to one -- the Aerie building is right near here," Xanatos offered.

"What? Oh I didn't mean..."

"Of course you must come with us," Fox Xanatos was backing up her husband; "you should get cleaned up as soon as possible."

"I couldn't impose, and it wouldn't make any sense without a change of clothes," Miranda protested.

"I'm sure we can find something," Xanatos shrugged aside her argument, "you look to be about Fox's size."

Miranda snorted in a most unladylike manner, "right," she glanced at Fox, "you still have some maternity clothes packed away somewhere?"

Fox smiled, "That's very sweet, but don't be silly. Come on, we're wasting time debating the issue, you know you're coming with us."

If the couple wasn't so delightfully charming about it, Miranda's hackles would have raised at the pushiness of it all. The truth was, she was extremely interested in seeing the Aerie building and the castle in the sky. Only one thing made her hesitate. She glanced at Owen one last time. He had remained blaringly silent throughout the whole interchange. She wondered what he thought of prolonged exposure to her, but he didn't seem to have a preference one way or another. It was almost worse than obvious distaste might have been. At least then she could have labeled him as a cut and dried misogynist and moved on, instead of being fascinated by his un-readability and undeniably drawn to it.

"You're sure you don't mind?" she asked the question of the Xanatoses, but still tried to glean the answer from the silent man beside her.

"Of course not, it's all settled now. Let's go." Fox took her arm gently and the two women led the way with the stroller as the men came up behind.

"You seem puzzled, Owen," Xanatos mentioned out of earshot of the ladies, "are you wondering why I'm bringing this strange woman into our home?"

"No, sir, I understand your tactic there," Owen replied; though a slight wrinkle of confusion was still perceptible between his brow.

"What then?" Xanatos pressed.

"Why did Miranda imply that she was a size that would require maternity clothes?"

Xanatos could not contain a burst of laughter. He clamped a hand on Owen's shoulder good-naturedly.

"Owen, my friend, you have a lot to learn about women."

"Yes, sir," Owen agreed with dry matter-of-factness that only increased his boss' amusement.

Ahead of them, Xanatos' laughter raised the hair on the back of Miranda's nervous neck.

"Don't let them bother you," Fox reassured her, "boys will be boys, and so will men most of the time."

"Thank you Mrs. Xanatos," Miranda said, smiling at the other woman's wry comment.

"Ugh, call me Fox, please. I never met David's mother, but I don't see myself as a 'Mrs. Xanatos.'"

"Fox, then," Miranda agreed glancing down at the stroller and adding, "you have a beautiful son."

Fox beamed, "Thank you. I think so, of course, but it's nice to hear someone outside the family say so. Would you like to hold him?"

"Oh, that's probably not a good idea, I'm so dirty..." Miranda protested; but Fox ignored her, scooping her son out of the stroller and plopping him into the other woman's arms.

"He's getting a bath after this outing anyway," she stated matter-of-factly. Fox observed her son carefully -- he looked up at the strange woman holding him curiously for a moment, as if considering whether to protest, then he giggled and cuddled more comfortably in her arms. Satisfied, Fox threw a smug smile over her shoulder at her husband.

Miranda was admiring the boy in her arms up close, "Well aren't you a little prince charming?" she cooed; though she came short of baby talk. She grinned at Fox as they entered the skyscraper lobby and made their way to the elevator, "Is he always so good with strangers?"

"No, actually," Fox admitted, "but I've found he's an excellent judge of character."

Miranda chuckled, "Oh, I'm a character all right."

They had entered the elevator and the gentlemen joined them. Xanatos still grinning about something that amused him and Owen outwardly stoic as ever, though Miranda swore he looked somewhat annoyed. Maybe she should not have agreed to this imposition. Still, as the elevator doors closed and they began to rise to the top of the city, she realized it was too late to turn back now.

They exited the elevator in the lush living area of Xanatos' penthouse mansion. Miranda looked around like a child in a wonderland as Fox relieved her of Alexander. She felt like spinning around and bursting into song -- maybe 'If My Friends Could See Me Now.'

"Just when I thought today couldn't get any better," she murmured.

"It has a number of advantages over being run down by New York drivers," Xanatos responded with irony.

Miranda laughed appreciatively, "Oh THAT. That was just a minor inconvenience in an otherwise glorious day." She paused before admitting with pride, "I had a great audition yesterday and got word I'm being called back for a lead role. My first if I get it."

"That's terrific!" Fox's enthusiastic congratulations were genuine, remembering her own time in show business.

"Yes," David agreed, "I'm glad to hear that the unfortunate incident at your last job didn't put too big a dent in your career."

"Yeah, it may have even been a blessing in disguise -- in more ways than one," Miranda commented, not trusting herself to glance Owen's way and be disappointed by his coolness once more. She shivered and realized that the abrupt halt of her workout, she hadn't been able to cool down properly and was now stiff and cold. Her hosts must have realized it too and cut the conversation short to get down to business.

"Owen, take our guest to the apartments in the East Wing, Fox will be along shortly with a change of clothes."

Suddenly Miranda found herself following the grave yet fascinating man and leaving the happy Xanatos family behind in their foyer.

No sooner were they out of earshot, then Fox turned to her husband with raised eyebrows, "All right, David, what was that about?"

"My dear, what do you think that was about?" Xanatos was grinning mischievously.

"I THINK that you brought this woman up here to check her out."

"You know me so well."

"But WHY, David? You and Owen spent the better part of the morning researching her background and she's everything she appears to be. A Broadway hopeful living with her retired academician Grandfather."

"I'm curious what it is about this woman that would cause Owen to abandon us," Xanatos gazed in the direction of his East wing, a pondering frown on his brow.

"David, really, abandon us? We were perfectly safe and she was bout to be run down by a car. Is Owen forbidden to save the life of an acquaintance?"

"Of course not; but there's more to it than that."

"What, that he's attracted to her?" Fox asked shrewdly.

"Well," Xanatos admitted, "Owen's never shown any tendencies towards that sort of mortal weakness before..."

"He was never exiled from Avalon for all eternity before either -- are you jealous, love? Don't you want to have his attention divided from his lifetime of service to you?" Fox's question was put archly.

David chuckled at the teasing, "All right, my dear -- let's take care of our son."

As they walked arm in arm to their own rooms, Owen had arrived at the entrance to the East apartments.

"I'm sure you'll find the bathroom stocked with a wide variety of ...toiletries," he said clearing his throat somewhat uncomfortably.

At last, Miranda thought, smiling at his discomfort, a crack in the armor.

"Thank you, all I really need is a bar of soap and a towel," she said, " and a good stretch -- stand there for a minute."

She grabbed his shoulder with her left hand and bent her right leg up until she could grab her heel with her right hand and then extended her leg pulling her knee as close to her ear as she could get it. She dropped her leg and switched hands to do the same with her left leg.

"You make an excellent barre, Mr. Burnett," She commented then winced as she straightened her left leg, which had taken the brunt of the abuse of her fall.

"Are you all right?" He asked as she dropped her leg and released his shoulder.

"Oh sure, No pain not gain, right?" Miranda said brightly moving so that her back faced him and sticking her arms behind her, "Now take my arms and raise them as high as they'll go."

He complied, taking both her wrists in his good hand and pressing her arms up. Her spine crackled, alarming him, but when he released her arms she turned smiling, "That was terrific," She purred, reminding him of the cat costume she was wearing at their first encounter.

"Will your injury affect the audition?" he asked partly out of real curiosity and partly just to talk to her.

"No, it will be a singing audition, no dancing required -- and I'm pretty sure my voice is still in tact," she smiled, "did you assume all I did was dance because I was in CATs?"

"No...that is...I..."

"...didn't give it much thought one way or another, did you?" she finished for him, "that's all right -- you pretty much have to be pretty solid in dancing, singing and acting to make it in the Broadway Musical Biz. If it makes you feel any better, even if I had to dance at call backs, I'd probably do fine with some lineament and a couple of Tylenol."

"I'm sorry," Owen apologized.

"What, for saving my life? I think that's worth a few minor cuts and bruises. Unless... maybe, you ARE sorry you saved my life?"

Miranda was pleased to see her teasing made him visibly uncomfortable again.

"Then don't be one bit sorry about the rest, either. I know I'm not. Life's too long for regrets."

"Too long?" Owen wasn't sure he heard her correctly.

"Sure," Miranda nodded, "Don't you think a long life full of regrets would be a lot more dour and miserable than a short life full of regrets?"

He had to admit there was a certain amount of sense in what she said, "I never thought of it from that point of view."

"Well, I know it's not the conventional way to look at it -- but I'm anything but conventional."

Before he had a chance to respond, they were interrupted by Fox Xanatos who approached carrying a bundle of clothes.

"Oh good, you haven't jumped in the shower yet -- I brought some clothes I think will suit -- what size shoe do you wear?"

"Seven and a half, but if you just bring me a pair of socks I'll wear my running shoes..."

Fox snorted, "please, don't insult my fashion sense -- I have a pair of sandals in here that should be fine."

She deposited the bundle into Miranda's arms and shooed her into the guestroom. Once Miranda closed the door behind her, Fox turned to Owen with her hands on her hips and an eyebrow arched.

"David is giving Alexander his bath and I don't want you to even think about teaching my son the art of spying on innocent women in showers," she said firmly.

Owen's eyes widened and his eyebrows flew up. The tone of his reply was offended, "Mrs. Xanatos, the thought never crossed my mind."

"Uh-huh," Fox nodded knowingly, "well just keep it that way."

She walked away leaving Owen to stare wistfully at the closed door for a moment. The water had already been turned on and behind the sound of its flow, he could hear Miranda humming. The thought had truly not crossed his mind until Fox brought it up -- and now it lay before him enticing and forbidden. Shrugging off the inner imp inside him, he turned toward the Xanatos offices, intending to get some work done before the evening.

Twenty minutes later, Miranda was dressed in a lovely spring floral dress and sandals and toweling her hair dry. Her short dark locks dried quickly and soon she was combing her hair back and sitting in a comfortable wingback chair admiring the view of the city from the guest suite window. She was gazing dreamily, elbow on armrest and chin in hand, a world away, when Fox Xanatos came to retrieve her.

"Oh, good, you're finished," she said breaking Miranda from her reverie.

Miranda snapped her head up and leapt out of the chair.

"Yes, Fox -- this dress..."

"Doesn't it fit?" Fox asked, handing her a knapsack for her workout clothes, "It looks great!"

"Thank you," Miranda accepted the bag and started stuffing her clothes into it, "The dress is fine, it's lovely -- but for the subway ride home I think jeans and a T-shirt would have done just as well."

"Don't be ridiculous, you'll have dinner with us and David will send you home in a car," Fox explained, beckoning her out of the room and towards the living area.

"Oh, no, I can't, I have a previous engagement," evennow, Miranda worried that she might be late.

"Cancel it," was David Xanatos' authoritative solutionwhen she relayed her regrets to him in person.

Regret was written all over Miranda's face. This was a chance of a lifetime: To dine at the literal top of New York City and to explore the Castle. Perhaps even make a further connection with these people, especially Owen Burnett. Sadly, she could not back down on her commitment to Arthur.

"I can't," She said, "It's too important. Really, I've given this person my word..."

"Another time then," Xanatos offered casually.

Relief and delight flashed in across Miranda's face; "I'd like that very much."

"It's settled then," Xanatos nodded once, "Owen will arrange for a car to bring you home," he gestured to his ubiquitous assistant.

"Oh, no," Miranda finally put her foot down adamantly, "I really don't need one and you have already been more than generous. You've quite overwhelmed me, really. With all the traffic around here this time of day, the subway would be quicker for me anyway."

Acquiescing gallantly, Xanatos compromised, "then Owen will see you to the lobby."

Miranda's heart thundered in appreciation, "Thank you."

The elevator was fast moving, but still afforded a painfully long time for Miranda and Owen to stand side by side in awkward silence. Miranda couldn't help but think that she was losing a big chance, but she was at a loss. Normally, the men she was attracted to responded to a minimal amount of flirting. Not that she was a supermodel or irresistibly beautiful, it just seemed to work that way for her. She had already been much bolder than usual with Owen and had hoped that cracking his armor a bit might have opened him up a bit more; but he was just as stony as ever and showed no more signs of cracking than a gargoyle at high noon. Maybe Grandfather was right, she admitted wistfully, or maybe she was so dramatically not his type she should just forget it. Except for some reason this veritable stranger was totally under her skin. Finally the silence got to her.

"The home is beautiful, I would have liked to seen the whole castle," it was idle chitchat, but it was better than nothing.

"You may still cancel your appointment, I'm sure Mr. Xanatos' invitation stands," Owen offered.

"No, I gave my word and even if that weren't enough, I couldn't contact him to cancel at this time," or at all, Miranda added to herself realizing she had no idea where Arthur and Griff had holed up for the day.

Thankfully, the elevator doors parted and they stepped out into the lobby. As they passed the security guard's desk, Miranda was reminded of her promise to herself when she returned Owen's overcoat. If she ever got a second chance to make an impression on him, she had sworn to take it. 'Fortune favors the bold,' she thought and then plunged forward.

"I don't think I truly thanked you for saving my life," she ventured slowing her pace to a saunter.

He had to stop and turn towards her, "Perhaps you should consider us even."

Her eyebrows flew up, "even?"

"The falling beam in the theater," he reminded her.

"Oh that -- I suppose so," she conceded, stepping forward to close the gap between them, "but I still feel I owe you something..."

And before he could realize her intent and before she stopped herself, she snaked her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. He stiffened at once and Miranda, ever the actress, began running her next potential line through her head for when he pushed her away. 'You can't blame a girl for trying?' she rejected that as too desperate and decided on a careless shrug followed by, 'That's gratitude for you!' and a hasty retreat. So occupied with preparing for his rejection it took her a moment to realize that after the initial shock, he had relaxed and was kissing her back, and not too shabbily either! 'That settles the question of whether or not he likes women,' she thought settling into the clinch herself. He was taller than she had initially anticipated and she stretched on her toes to adjust her grip and improve the angle. He responded perfectly, tightening his arms around her to provide extra support. She felt his stone hand pressing against her spine and wondered idly if it would cause a bruise, not really caring one way or another. As the intensity of the kiss waned and they relaxed their embrace and began to draw apart, Miranda had no need to search for words. The perfect line had been written for her long ago and she spoke it with as much breathless enthusiasm as any Juliet told her Romeo.

"You kiss by the book!"

Suddenly, after her bold move and its surprisingly pleasant results, she was overcome by a wave of shyness. Rather than meet his ice-blue gaze, she stared at his chest, letting her hands drop from around his neck to straighten his lapels. Who would have guessed such a firm chest under the double-breasted suit? The thought caused her lips to twitch in a semi smile and she was overcome with an impish urge to seize the lapels and pull him down for another kiss. She was on the verge of succumbing to the impulse when she caught a glimpse of her watch. She pulled back out of his embrace completely, feeling a bit like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight.

"For an actress, I should have better timing," she gritted out in annoyance then looked up apologetically, "I really have to go now -- I'm..." she was about to say she was sorry, but remembered their earlier conversation about no regrets and instead finished with an impish grin, "...not one bit sorry."

A flash of recognition in his eyes confirmed that he

took her meaning. Smiling broadly, she turned and dashed through the lobby doors into the street, feeling a certain sense of deja vu. He had not said a word; not that she had given him a chance to say anything, mostly out of fear. Attraction was one thing, but compatibility was quite another and the words, "you're just not my type," had been spoken by her often enough for the fates to throw them in her face when it really mattered.

And it DID really matter she realized pressing a hand to her lips remembering the kiss with a smile. She didn't really know anything about this man and yet his reaction to her had suddenly become one of the most important things in her life. What was he thinking right now?

Owen stood stunned for a moment before realizing he was still staring after Miranda with a ridiculous smile on his face in the middle of the Aerie lobby. Hardly the image he'd strived to maintain in public. Collecting himself quickly he strode back to the elevator, raising an aloof eyebrow at the winking security guard as he entered and only allowing a hint of his smile to twitch about the corners of his mouth when the doors closed. He expected he would have to explain himself to Mr. Xanatos and endure a healthy amount of ribbing for it; but it didn't seem to matter at the moment. His life was certainly a long one, longer still based on his eternal exile from Avalon. In his more than 1000 years among mortals, he was amazed that there were still facets and experiences that were new to him. This brief encounter with Miranda Templeton opened up a whole realm of possibilities -- he certainly wasn't going to regret it no matter what kind of good-natured harassment Mr. Xanatos gave him.

Owen was correct in assuming Xanatos was curious about the encounter, and amused by it as well. He watched the clinch between the unlikely couple on the wall of TV screens from every angle and observation point the cameras in his lobby could afford.

Fox entered his office after putting Alexander down for a nap and surveyed the scene on the screen for a moment before asking her husband, "Isn't this a rather intimate moment to be scrutinizing so carefully?"

"They are in the middle of the lobby, my dear; it's not as if Owen isn't perfectly aware of all the observation equipment in the building," he responded unrepentantly.

"Huh," Fox perched herself on the edge of his desk and looked back at the screens, "they make a cute couple," she observed.

Xanatos grunted non-committally.

"David, you don't still think that she's some kind of threat?" she asked.

"Well, she certainly has had an affect on Owen," he commented.

"Do you think Owen would betray us, betray Alexander for her?" Fox pressed.

David snorted then, "Don't be ridiculous -- it's not even in his nature."

"Well, then -- no problem," Fox shrugged off her husband's worries, "Besides, I like her."

Xanatos remained unconvinced, "You like her because she cooed over the baby."

"And he cooed back. That ought to be worth something. You liked her too, David, admit it."

He sighed, capitulating; "She was charming. I just wish I knew why she wouldn't stay for dinner when she so obviously wanted to..."

"She had an important meeting."

"More important than a once in a lifetime dinner with us?" Xanatos was only partially joking.

"Poor David, can't stand not to be the most popular man in town," Fox pouted at him then noticed the screens, "look, Owen's coming back up -- be nice, David."

Xanatos was all innocence, "When am I not nice?"

"Why don't you put that question to Goliath at sunset?" Fox countered rising off the desk and sauntering towards the door, "Be nice to him, David, I'll make it worth your while." and with a suggestive toss of her head, she was out the door.

David smiled appreciatively and thanked his stars once again that he found such a beautiful and exciting woman to share his life with. It had never occurred to him that Owen would have needed much less desired that kind of companionship. Still, as Fox had pointed out, his enforced eternal exile from Avalon and the restriction on his powers may have enhanced any mortal qualities he had previously subdued. Xanatos tugged at his beard thoughtfully. If that was indeed the case, he certainly didn't begrudge Owen a romance; but he found himself feeling suddenly protective of his assistant and, he realized with some surprise, best friend. Owen's lack of experience in that department left him vulnerable, and Xanatos found himself more concerned that Miranda Templeton was going to break Owen's heart than that she posed any sort of open threat to his family stability.

"If she hurts him, I'll kill her," he muttered to himself.

Continued...

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	4. Chapter 4 Late in the Evening

**Puck Meets Girl**

**Chapter 4 "Late in the Evening"**

Little did Miranda know the danger her current romantic interest put her in as she raced into her apartment,

dropping the knapsack with her workout clothes on her bed and rushing to the kitchen. The sun had set while she was in the Subway and she knew that Griff and Arthur could be on the roof at any minute. A delightful aroma wafted to her nose and she saw the oven was on and the bread machine was whirring. She grabbed a post-it note stuck to the latter and recognized her grandfather's erudite hand:

_Miranda,_

_Vegetable casserole in the oven, bread baking and steaks in the refrigerator...they should only take minutes to broil. I will be out until your guest departs. Have fun!_

_Love, Grandfather_

She smiled. Despite his aversion to helping Arthur directly, he wouldn't let her fall on her face no matter how poorly she planned her day. Checking to make sure nothing was burning, she left the apartment and rushed up to the roof. As she had feared, Arthur had arrived already. She smiled apologetically and nodded approvingly at his black turtleneck and gray slacks.

"Sorry I'm late your majesty," she said taking his hand, then noticed the absence of his gargoyle companion, "Where's Sir Griff?"

"Griff wanted to visit with some old friends and rushed off to Castle Wyvern before they left on patrol."

"I hope he didn't feel unwelcome because we'll be inside?"

"Not at all, reminiscing with Macbeth made him miss the Scottish clan..."

"Macbeth?" Miranda interrupted, "You mentioned him last night. This is the same Macbeth that was the Thane of Cawdor and King of Scotland and all that?"

"Yes, you know of him?" Arthur asked excitedly.

"I read the play in high school AND college for that matter," she said, "he killed his king to become king -- it was a very bad business."

Arthur chuckled, "Ah yes, Shakespeare -- Griff and his companions have exposed me to that fine playwright -- surely you don't believe everything you read, my dear?"

"Well, no," Miranda admitted, "but it's such a great play."

"All the more reason to doubt its veracity, don't you think. The real Macbeth is a good man, made tired and a bit bitter by immortality."

The compassion in Arthur's voice gave Miranda pause and she cocked her head sympathetically and put out her hand to the great King.

"Yes, it must be hard to lose all you love to time and still have to endure," she said, startling him out of his semi-reverie when he realized she was talking as much about him as Macbeth, "come to dinner Your Majesty."

He took her hand and they descended the stairs to her apartment level.

"It's not much of an apartment, but it's home," Miranda said opening the door and letting him in.

He smiled warmly and shrugged, "No need to worry about that, milady, I come from humble beginnings, you know."

"Yes, I've read that," Miranda nodded, grinning, "but it might not have been true."

"Bright girl, turning my words against me so quickly," he laughed approvingly.

She basked in the approval for a moment and then gestured toward the sofa, "Sit down in my humble home

and let me get you a drink. Grandfather stocks the cupboard with Guinness Stout and I purposely kept it out of the refrigerator so that it should be close to the warm ale from home, or I can try and fix something a little harder..."

"Ale is fine," Arthur said, then asked, "where is the famous Grandfather?"

Miranda made a face, "It seems he's not as interested as I thought he'd be in helping you find Merlin ... you'll have to make do with my own feeble mind for now."

"I see..." Arthur's brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" Miranda asked.

"You seemed genuinely surprised that Griff didn't come..."

"Yes, I was, I did expect you both," she agreed wondering where this was going.

"Yet your Grandfather is also unexpectedly absent..."

"The old fart," she muttered, "so?"

"Is this a date?" the king burst.

"A...?" Miranda's eyes went huge. Is that what he thought? 'Oh boy am I in trouble,' she thought as she madly tried to think of a less than humiliating way of saying, 'Hell, No!' and laughing hysterically. Not that Arthur wasn't an attractive man or every bit as compelling as she had always imagined in her childhood -- it just was the furthest thing from her mind. She thought of what Beatrice told Don Pedro in MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING when he proposed to her: 'No, my lord, unless I might have another for working-days: your grace is too costly to wear every day.'

"Did you ask Griff not to come because you thought this was a date?" she asked with cautious curiosity.

"No!" he denied vehemently, "I assure you it was his own decision."

"Well, Grandfather is just being a pill so it's a complete accident that we're alone here -- whatever gave you the idea that this might be a date?"

"Macbeth said..."

"Macbeth, huh," Miranda rolled her eyes, "look, I'll make you a deal -- I won't believe everything the play Macbeth says if you don't believe everything the man Macbeth says..."

To her relief, Arthur also looked relieved.

"An excellent bargain," he agreed heartily.

"Great -- I'll be back with your drink."

At Castle Wyvern, Detective Elisa Maza arrived just in time to see her gargoyle friends come to life. She smiled affectionately up at Goliath who returned her smile as he hopped down from his daily perch. Reaching up to caress his cheek she enjoyed a brief moment of simply gazing at him before the others started calling their hellos and pulled her out of her reverie.

"Have you had any luck with your latest investigation?" Goliath asked her as they descended to the lower battlements to greet the others.

Elisa sighed and shook her head, "No, Mr. Burnett was definitely right about there being a bomb -- but there was no warning and no terrorist group taking credit -- there doesn't seem to be anybody anywhere who knows anything about it. Even the materials used to make the bomb aren't traceable to any of the city's usual providers -- it's as if the bomb appeared in that theater out of thin air."

Goliath scowled, "that does not bode well."

"I know," Elisa agreed, "A few years ago I would have been joking if I thought anything appeared out of thin air but now..."

"...Now you know there is more at work in the world. Do you think this could be sorcery?"

"I don't know -- it doesn't seem like Demona to not threaten the whole human race on a greater scale -- and she's been incognito for so long --"

"Yes, and Macbeth has been supportive of late -- it doesn't seem to fit."

Their discussion was interrupted by a commotion among the other gargoyles. Bronx was barking happily and the others were huddled in a group talking at once in unintelligible garble.

"What's all this?" Goliath asked loudly. The huddle parted revealing Griff's smiling face.

"Hello, Mate," he greeted cheerfully, "I don't suppose you have any evil doers to slay tonight?"

"Griff, my friend," Goliath greeted warmly, "what are you doing in Manhattan?"

"King Arthur and I are here looking for Merlin."

"Yes, the others told me you had become Arthur's knight and companion. He couldn't have chosen truer."

The entrance of Xanatos and Owen interrupted Griff's reply of gratitude.

"Sorry to interrupt, but my security system alerted me to an unknown presence," Xanatos offered looking at Griff curiously, "You, I presume?"

"Xanatos, this is Griff, an English gargoyle I met in my journeys last year," Goliath offered as introduction.

"He's a knight of King Arthur!" Broadway added enthusiastically.

"King Arthur?" Xanatos raised his eyebrows, interest peaked.

"Yeah, yeah -- I woke King Arthur back on Avalon, you've heard it all," Elisa broke in. Despite all he had done for her friends, Xanatos could still make her uncomfortable when he got that certain ambitious tone in his voice.

"Hey, if you're here together, where is King Arthur anyway?" asked Brooklyn.

"Oh, he had a dinner engagement with the fair lady Miranda Templeton," Griff announced.

"Miranda Templeton!" the three humans chorused the name in surprise and then looked at each other even more surprised.

"Who is this...Miranda Templeton?" Goliath asked.

"An actress," Elisa said, "not a famous one, just a chorus member who was on stage during that theater bombing I'm investigating. She actually came back to the scene afterwards and helped us locate the center of the blast, which is why I remember her." Elisa turned to Griff, "how do you and Arthur know her?"

"The Stone of Destiny sent us here like before. When we got here, it was just in time to see her fall off her building. I caught her and she offered to help us find Merlin..."

"She fell off her building?" Elisa asked skeptically, "you sure she didn't jump?"

"Not this girl," Griff shook his head, "she definitely has a zest for life. In fact, she thought she might have been pushed, but there was no one there..."

"Pushed?" Xanatos said, exchanging a look with Owen, "how interesting..."

"What do you mean by interesting?" Elisa asked, knowing he was up to something.

"Well, just today we met with the same lady when Owen saved her from being run down by a car..."

"You, lad?" Hudson interrupted, snorting in Owen's face, "I can hardly believe you took the time."

"Let's just say he was inspired," Xanatos said, with an amused gleam in is eye; "it just seems that in the past week anyway, Miranda Templeton has led an incredibly jinxed life."

"Or an incredibly charmed one," Angela suggested in a soft dreamy voice.

"Charmed? How so?"

Xanatos' sudden attention made Angela a bit nervous, but Broadway held her hand and she expanded.

"Well, from what you say she's almost died at least three times. She must be incredibly lucky to have escaped each time."

Xanatos looked at Owen, "Another coincidence?" he asked.

"It seems unlikely, sir," Owen admitted, "perhaps there is more at work in Miss Templeton's life than it appears."

"Here now," Griff interrupted, "do you think she's in danger of some kind -- or the King?"

"Perhaps we should focus our patrols on her apartment tonight," Goliath considered.

"Whoa!" Elisa interjected, "don't you think we're making a big jump in logic here? Some chorus girl you've never met has a couple of close shaves in New York City and you're suddenly volunteering to be her personal body guards?"

"Jealous, detective?" Xanatos asked archly. When she only responded with a snort, he continued, "It may not seem logical, and believe me, I intend to gather a few facts to back it up; but this woman's close shaves have managed to bring her into contact with you, me and King Arthur -- the coincidences are too much for my comfort."

Goliath was almost apologetic when he added, "I'm afraid I must agree with Xanatos, Elisa. Whatever forces are at work here, they are not those of mere chance. However, the rest of the city does need to be patrolled..."

He considered for a moment, then directed, "Brooklyn, you go with Griff to watch over this Miranda Templeton. The rest of us will patrol as usual," he turned to Xanatos, "Do you feel the castle is secure this night?"

"I think Owen and I can handle it," Xanatos nodded.

"Fine, Hudson, you're with me," he looked questioningly at Elisa, "is that satisfactory?"

"Well, I STILL think you're making a big fuss over nothing; but it is an excellent compromise," Elisa admitted grudgingly, "speaking of which, I've got to go meet Matt at the station -- I'll see you later tonight."

After the detective and Gargoyles had departed, Xanatos and Owen returned to their offices.

"I suppose an intimate dinner with King Arthur was a sufficient enough reason for Miranda to rush off from here the way she did," Xanatos mused.

"Yes," Owen barely disguised his annoyance, "she certainly seems to make friends quickly..."

Xanatos narrowed his eyes at this sign of jealousy from his friend, "Not to worry, Owen. I assure you that before this is over we'll get to the bottom of the mystery of Miranda Templeton."

Over dinner, Miranda found their conversation centered mostly on his life as a boy and the differences he discovered in the 20th century. She spoke of her own childhood, the untimely death of her parents and her Grandfather's influence on her life. She explained the life of a Broadway hopeful including auditions and grueling rehearsals just to be one of a crowd in the hope of the chance at a breakout performance. They spoke of almost everything but his quest for Merlin. It was something of a relief because Miranda wasn't sure how to proceed without her Grandfather's guidance. By the time the meal was over she was still without inspiration.

"Well, your Majesty, have you ever had New York cheesecake?" she asked, thankful for the presence of one in her refrigerator.

"I didn't have much time to enjoy the cuisine last time I was here," he admitted.

"Oh, Wart, are you in for a treat!" she exclaimed pushing back from the table.

"Wart?" his surprise was evident.

Miranda hesitated, afraid she had just stuck her foot in it, "I ... uh... read that you were called that as a boy. Was that wrong? Or am I just too disrespectful?"

"No, it wasn't wrong; and you are the soul of respect, milady. It's just been a long time since anyone called me 'Wart' -- it took me by surprise -- but not an unpleasant one."

"Well, I will be happy to call you Wart for as long as you feel appropriate," Miranda laughed disappearing into the kitchen briefly for the cheesecake.

They were enjoying the rich dessert at the coffee table when Miranda finally admitted her lack of ideas.

"I'm afraid I can't think where to begin in your quest to find Merlin, Wart. I wonder if you have any clues as to what to look for. You and Griff said the Stone of Destiny gave you a riddle to finding Excalibur -- maybe there's something similar to go on for Merlin?" she looked hopefully at him.

"Actually, I do have an idea -- but I hesitate to mention it..."

"Why?" Miranda couldn't imagine the king being taciturn about anything.

Then she noticed the twinkle in his eyes, "Macbeth mentioned it."

Miranda rolled her eyes and laughed simultaneously, "All right, I'm willing to admit that SOME of his ideas may have merit. What is it?"

"Well, Macbeth mentioned the museum had something called the Scrolls of Merlin."

"Of Course!" Miranda exclaimed, "I've seen them. They're supposed to be a journal of his life -- mostly with you; but there still may be a clue of how or where to find him now. Maybe you're just in town to see the scrolls..."

"My thoughts exactly. Can we see them now?"

Miranda looked at the clock, amazed at how time had flown, "Not unless you're interested in breaking and entering...but I am free tomorrow afternoon. We should arrange a time to go, although it may not do us much good. The museum has the scrolls opened to a certain section and they're under a glass casing, so we won't be able to read the whole thing."

"Macbeth offered to steal them for me -- apparently he has done so in the past -- but I counseled him against that. Perhaps the fates will be with us and the scrolls are opened to the passage I need. It couldn't hurt to look."

"No, indeed," Miranda agreed, "let me get the dishes and I'll show you how to get to the apartment from the ground..."

Miranda collected the dishes and brought them into the kitchen to dump them unceremoniously into the sink. When she returned she found Arthur had stood too and was now examining a picture frame on the mantle.

"Is this portrait of you?" he asked when he noticed her.

"Senior year in high school -- I was about 17." she nodded, trying not to feel too embarrassed.

"Your hair is so long," he commented.

"Half-way down my back and straight as a ruler," she agreed, "it was amazing how much body I picked up when I chopped off all that weight."

"It's lovely," Arthur contradicted her own opinion, "the way you wore it here reminds me of..."

"Don't say it," she cut him off.

"Say what?" he asked, startled at her vehemence.

"Guineviere..." she admitted reluctantly, "besides, I thought she was a blonde."

"She was not raven-haired, like you, but neither was her hair flaxen. I was just going to say that your hair reminded me of the ladies of my court. You have something against my queen?" he asked cautiously.

"Well I suppose that depends on whether what I've read is true," Miranda was willing to give the long dead woman the benefit of the doubt.

"What have you read?" Arthur's caution was increasing.

"That she betrayed you by having an affair with Lancelot," Miranda said bluntly crossing her arms before her.

Arthur paled.

"Even that is written?" he gasped, barely audible.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Miranda exclaimed, seeing the blood rush from him. Perhaps she shouldn't have brought it up. She rushed to him and led him to her Grandfather's chair, "The private lives of the British royalty has always been meat for the press, it seems," she commented wryly, "You should see what they've done to the current royal family..."

"I should not be surprised," Arthur admitted, "even then I was constantly aware of the public eye and I have seen how much sharper the technology of this century has made it."

"I shouldn't have been so coarse about it," Miranda said repentantly, kneeling in front of him, "it's just that it has always bothered me and having met you in the flesh only makes it worse in my opinion."

"Thank you, my dear," Arthur smiled and patted her hand avuncularly, "but you should not judge Guineviere too harshly. Lance was everything a man should be."

Miranda snorted, "Except for loyal and honorable. She was your wife, Arthur. That should mean something. Did you beat her?"

"Of course not," he was suitably shocked at the question.

"Were you having affairs? Were you unkind to her in any way?"

"I certainly hope not," he said.

"Then there's no excuse. You were her husband and you were good to her -- she owed you her loyalty. There's not excuse for such a betrayal," Miranda avowed with finality.

"You obviously feel strongly about the issue," Arthur scrutinized her face.

She looked a bit sheepishly up at him after her short tirade, "A lot more so than most women in my generation. We're lucky enough to be able to choose whom to marry, presumably out of love, and so many marriages still end up in divorce. It's shocking."

"Indeed," Arthur chuckled a bit, but broke off and seemed to sink deep into his own thoughts.

"You still love her, don't you," Miranda realized.

"The more fool I," Arthur sighed.

She stroked his cheek comfortingly, "She didn't know what she had."

He took her hand and kissed the back of it gratefully before returning it to her, "Perhaps we should discuss something else -- you were going to show me something?"

"Right," Miranda stood and pulled him out of the chair, "let me show you the front door and how to buzz me tomorrow."

"Buzz you?" he asked.

"It's like an electronic herald telling me I have a visitor," she explained grabbing her keys as they exited the front door.

Heading down to the ground floor, Miranda looked over at the king and felt compelled to make one more apology.

"I'm sorry things got so grim back there," she offered, "If it makes you feel any better, my love life is a disaster."

"A disaster?" Arthur seemed amused at her dramaticism, "surely a woman of your virtue would have many suitors?"

Miranda chuckled, "Well, a virtuous woman isn't exactly what every man today is looking for. Still, you're right, I've dated enough -- I just always seem to want what I can't have."

"How so?"

"I'm always either attracted to someone who's insuppressibly fun or painstakingly responsible and what I really want is someone's who's both. The problem being that the two extremes don't exist in the same package," She explained.

"Perhaps you are just misinterpreting what you really desire," Arthur said.

"Could be," Miranda admitted amiably, "it's a pretty definite pendulum swing -- I dated this artist a few months ago whose fun only appealed to me for about a month and now, as predictable as sunrise I'm completely infatuated with Mr. Responsible."

Miranda fell silent as they approached the apartment lobby and led Arthur quietly to the front door. She had avoided thoughts of Owen since entering her apartment hours earlier and had been able to focus all her attention on Arthur's problems. Why had she so foolishly brought up her own romantic problems? Probably her subconscious working overtime to bring what she really cared about personally to the forefront. Now, instead of helping Arthur, she was caught up in the memory of this afternoon's kiss and what it may or may not have meant.

"This man is different, I think," Arthur commented, interrupting her ponderings.

"What?" she asked.

"This 'Mr. Responsible,'" Arthur explained, quoting her, "Your words treat him cynically, but your eyes cannot."

"Well, that's just because he's the interest of the moment," Miranda countered lamely.

Arthur was not fooled, "An honest woman as you makes a poor liar."

"Well," Miranda admitted, "I can't help but feel that there's more to him than his armor of stoicism and efficiency; but reaching it seems nearly impossible. Not that it matters -- there may not be a true class system any more -- but as far as social circles are concerned, he's nobility and I'm a milkmaid."

"You are every bit a noble woman," Arthur assured her.

She smiled at him, "Thank you, Wart. Now let me show you how to announce yourself tomorrow..."

It was not difficult. Arthur had been awake in the Twentieth Century nearly a year and was not completely ignorant of technology. Miranda walked him through which button to push and how to talk into the speaker and recalled the floor and number of her apartment. She was about to ask him how he was going to get back to Macbeth's when a swooshing sound made her turn towards the street. Griff was landing nearby and approached them quickly.

"Is there a problem, your Majesty?" he asked.

"No, Sir Griff, we are just making arrangements to further the quest. Have you been waiting long?" Arthur

asked.

Griff looked uncomfortable for a moment, then responded, "No, Your Majesty not long."

Another flutter of gargoyle wings startled Miranda. A red gargoyle with white hair approached them.

"Griff, it's usually not a good idea for us to just hang out in the street, even if most of the city knows of our existence these days..." he said, then turned apologetically to King Arthur, "sorry, your Majesty, it's good to see you again."

"Likewise, my friend," Arthur agreed, "may I present the lady Miranda Templeton. Miranda, this is the gargoyle Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn, huh?" Miranda said smiling and putting out her hand, which Brooklyn accepted hesitantly, "you must be the tough Gargoyle."

Brooklyn smiled shyly, "Uh, yeah, I guess."

Griff snorted, "You'll have to excuse him, milady, he's of Scottish stock and a bit on the barbaric side."

"Which only makes him the perfect New Yorker," Miranda defended, unknowingly winning bonus points from Goliath's second in command, "He's right about one thing, though, we shouldn't stay out here. Prejudice is everywhere. So, if you blokes can get your wings through the front door, I'll get you up to the roof..."

The Gargoyles complied and Miranda got them unobserved up the stairs to the rooftop. A slightly cloudy night sky greeted them as Arthur turned to Miranda to bid her good night.

"Three-thirty in the afternoon?" he repeated the earlier agreed upon time.

"Yes, I'll be done by then, and it should give us an hour or two in the museum before dinner time." she agreed, "I hope we have some luck tomorrow."

"I have so far," Arthur said confidently, "Never fear, Miranda, everything will resolve itself in time."

"Thanks, Wart," She smiled at him, appreciating this newfound friendship, "Take good care of him, Griff," she told the knight-Gargoyle.

"Always, milady," he agreed.

"Goodnight, then. Brooklyn, it was nice to meet you."

"Thanks, uh -- will you be staying on the roof any more tonight," Brooklyn asked.

'What an odd question,' Miranda thought, but only said, "Maybe, why?"

Brooklyn exchanged a strange look with Griff before saying, "I would stay to make sure you didn't fall again."

Miranda laughed then, "I see you've been apprised of how I met these fine gentlemen; and Griff says you're barbaric! Thank you for the gallant offer Brooklyn, but..." She glanced wistfully in the direction of the Aerie building, partially obscured by the clouds, "I think I will stay inside for the rest of the night."

"If you're sure," Brooklyn seemed hesitant to leave it that.

Miranda smiled at him reassuringly.

"If it will make you feel better, I'll go down to my apartment now," she said, impulsively reaching out and patting the side of his beak.

Turning to her British friends, Miranda bid goodbye and descended to the apartment.

Her Grandfather's presence in his chair barely phased her.

"You got in here stealthily enough," she observed in her most blasé tone.

"Your business was done here," he responded, not looking up from his book, "how was the food?"

Miranda smiled and came in to lounge on the sofa.

"The food was delicious, Grandfather - thank you for getting it started."

"I was a bit concerned, your run lasted longer than usual. Any special reason?"

"No, I just had a little accident," she said, lifting her skirt to expose her scraped up thigh.

The old mans gray eyebrows flew up, "Little accident?" he asked.

Miranda smiled in a mysterious 'Mona Lisa' way and nodded, "A Good Samaritan pushed me out of the way of a speeding car."

Marcus narrowed his eyes at her before replying, "I don't like the sound of this. Wait a second, what are you looking so smug about?"

Miranda's eyes widened innocently, "Nothing, Grandfather. I've had an exhausting day, I think I'll turn in."

He looked skeptically at her and challenged, "I've never known you to not be able to stay out all night."

Miranda had already risen from the couch and gave a careless shrug at the old man, "I guess I'm getting older finally."

He chuckled a bit, but when she turned again to leave the room he called after her in a sobering tone that stopped her in her tracks.

"Miranda!"

She turned to face him one last time, her visage serious and her eyes questioning.

"I don't like these scrapes you're suddenly finding yourself in. I know that you've gotten out of trouble so far; but I advise a more cautionary existence until we can figure out if it's more serious than absentmindedness on your part."

"I thought you were the absentminded one, Grandfather," she teased, though her eyes remained serious, "I understand, and I promise to be extra careful for the next few days."

Then, because she was truly exhausted, she left the living room and headed for bed.

Continued...

Please review


	5. Chapter 5 Piano Man

**Puck Meets Girl**

**Chapter 5 "Piano Man"**

"You are in a quiet and thoughtful mood, this afternoon, my dear," Arthur observed as Miranda led him from the subway exit to the Museum.

"Sorry, your Majesty, I guess I'm just in a little funk," Miranda apologized and rushed on to explain at the King's confused look, "I'm a little depressed. My audition this morning did not go as well as I had hoped."

"I'm sorry," the King sympathized, "would it be better to postpone our trip?"

Miranda smiled gratefully and shook her head, "No, sire. As a matter of fact, Grandfather has observed that I always go to the museum when my career is giving me trouble. I guess I can put my little problems into perspective when faced with centuries of art and history."

"Very well," Arthur nodded, "I just like my court to be happy."

Miranda smiled more genuinely, "Am I a member of your court now?" she asked.

Arthur smiled back, "Of course, my lady - a most valued member."

They stood before the museum entrance chuckling with each other when Miranda noticed a large group of people filtering in the doors. She frowned, puzzled.

"That's odd," she puzzled, "They're all dressed up."

Arthur did not have time to comment as a female voice interrupted them.

"Miranda Templeton?"

Miranda and Arthur turned to see a lovely woman with flowing red hair and a strange blue tattoo over her eye. Like the other group that Miranda observed, she was elegantly dressed.

"Fox Xanatos?" Miranda couldn't believe it. Every time she was certain she'd never see someone again, they appeared. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," Fox answered casting her hand as if to say 'it's nothing,' "David donated a substantial amount of money to the museum again and they're having a cocktail reception honoring him and his new wing."

Miranda squeezed her eyes shut miserably, "God, it makes me wish I had a newspaper."

"What's wrong, Milady?" Arthur asked her.

"If there's a reception at the museum this afternoon, we probably won't be able to get to the scrolls," Miranda explained quickly.

Suddenly, she realized her rudeness.

"God, I'm sorry. Fox Xanatos, this is my friend Arthur..." She floundered.

"...Pendragon?" Fox supplied smiling; "I'm extremely pleased to meet you, your Majesty."

Miranda gaped at her as Fox executed a regal curtsey and presented her hand to the King. Arthur kissed the back of it gallantly.

"Lady Xanatos," he said acknowledging Fox.

"How?" Miranda couldn't even phrase more of a question.

"David met your gargoyle last night," she explained, "He'll be beside himself to know you're here - if I can find where he got to...uh oh."

Just then a stormy faced David Xanatos approached his wife, not noticing her companions.

"What kind of first violinist plays racket ball and breaks his hand on the morning of an important engagement?" he asked her angrily.

"One that doesn't expect to work for you again," Fox supplied helpfully, "David, you remember Miranda

Templeton?"

Startled, Xanatos turned to the two people next to his wife and smiled charmingly. Miranda admired his ability to quickly subdue his annoyance at errant musicians and transform into elegant host.

"Of course, I remember her. Miss Templeton, it seem like only yesterday," he said ironically taking her hand.

Miranda smiled at the joke as it was only yesterday. Then, warming to the situation she gestured to her own companion.

"It's always a pleasure, Mr. Xanatos. May I present his Royal Majesty..."

"King Arthur," David Xanatos' eyes lit like a schoolboy meeting one of his heroes. Though he put his hand out to the King with the air of an equal, "It's an honor to meet you, your Majesty."

Arthur shook his hand vigorously. He did not take offense at the familiarity, recognizing that Xanatos was a powerful man in his own right. Besides, Miranda noted with admiration, Arthur had no doubts or insecurities about his own power.

"You seem to be having a problem of some sort," he observed to Xanatos.

Reminded of the annoyance, Xanatos frowned again.

"Yes, the string quartet hired to perform at this reception cancelled due to a broken hand on the first violinist," he replied, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

"Forgive me for saying so, Mr. Xanatos," Miranda commented, "but you don't seem to be the kind of man who wouldn't have a back-up plan."

Xanatos smiled at her, "Ordinarily, that would be true," he admitted, "In fact, I had a pianist lined up - but she double-booked."

Miranda's eyes lit and she asked excitedly, "But there's a piano in the reception hall?"

"Yes, do you play?" Xanatos couldn't believe that this was just good fortune.

Miranda snorted with a certain amount of self-derision, "I can only plunk out a few tunes; but just give me a few minutes to make a phone call. I may be able to help."

As she turned to rush up the stairs to the museum lobby, Xanatos put a hand on her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Miranda frowned in confusion, hadn't she explained sufficiently? "To the phones in the lobby."

Rolling his eyes, Xanatos handed her his cellular from his pocket, "It is a local call isn't it?"

Miranda blushed slightly and managed a nod as she accepted the phone.

With three sets of eyes on her, she dialed and breathed a sigh of relief when the party at the other end picked up after only a couple of rings.

"Hey, Garret, it's me," she supplied, then chuckled after a pause, "No, not quite; but I was wondering if you still had your own monkey suit?"

She nodded at the positive reply and smiled, "Great. If you're not working today, I've got a gig for you; but you have to be at the museum in the tux five minutes ago."

She smiled encouragingly at her audience, "Great! I'll be waiting for you in the lobby."

She handed the cel-phone back to Xanatos triumphantly, "You won't be sorry. Garret Lane is the absolute best I know."

"You'll forgive me if I reserve judgement," Xanatos commented, "Still, I appreciate your assistance. I am in your debt."

"Don't be silly, sir," She responded, "I owe you much more for your generosity yesterday."

"Still, when your friend arrives, you and King Arthur will join us in the reception as our honored guests."

Miranda hesitated and considered her wardrobe. King Arthur was somewhat casually dressed, but his innate royal aura would prevent him from seeming out of place at a high-class reception. She had admittedly dressed up more than her usual museum fare, but even so the silk pantsuit did not compare to the elegant clothing she had seen on others.

"You look lovely," Fox assured her before she could even voice her concerns.

"Not exactly up to par, though," Miranda countered, "I'm not sure it's such a good idea..."

"I insist," Xanatos pressed, "You would be doing me a great honor."

"There is no arguing with the two of you, is there?" she asked in wonderment. The unrepentant couple smiled at her obvious capitulation and she turned to the King in one last effort to escape.

"If you have no objections, Your Majesty?" she asked.

Her hope that Arthur's drive to see the scrolls and find Merlin would steer him away from the reception were dashed. It was obvious that the Xanatos couple intrigued him and he had been making peace treaties for far to long not to recognize to opportunity to form a valuable alliance. If Xanatos was respected in this city, it stood to reason, that Arthur may need his good will sometime down the road.

"I think it's an excellent idea," Arthur was agreeing.

"Of course," Miranda muttered, then putting the best face on it she could she smiled.

"Perhaps you should go in now and I'll wait here for Garret," she suggested hoping to prolong her now inevitable entrance into the reception and the subsequent stares of all the people who knew she was out of place. As an actress, Miranda knew it was supposed to be in her nature to crave attention of any sort, but she was always sensitive to disapproval and was more comfortable having an orchestra between her and her audience.

"You can't wait out here alone," Fox protested, "I'll wait with you while David shows King Arthur around."

"Excellent suggestion, my dear," Xanatos kissed his wife's hand and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. Miranda pondered at the wisdom of letting Arthur alone with him - but she quelled her doubts. After all, the Xanatoses had been nothing but gracious to her.

As the men entered the museum, Fox Xanatos eyed her companion slyly. After a brief moment, she broke the silence between them.

"Owen is home tonight taking care of Alexander," she said.

Miranda nearly jumped out of her skin, for she had been wondering if the stony Mr. Burnett was going to make an appearance at the reception. She forced herself to look neither disappointed nor relieved, not really sure which she felt anyway.

"He's probably the highest priced babysitter in town," she commented, "but it must be nice for you and Mr. Xanatos to have someone you trust so completely."

"Too true," Fox nodded smiling secretively.

Their wait was shorter than expected and soon a young man approached smiling and waving.

"'Randa!" he called, bounding up the stone steps of the museum two at a time, "I told you that you'd come crawling back to me someday!"

"Hardly," Miranda chuckled embracing her friend then holding him at arm's length for approval.

"You're growing you're hair out," she observed, tugging on his short ponytail.

"Sure," he said, shrugging, "There's no point in going for that clean-cut look you love if you're not interested. Most women out there in our business dig the long hair - will it be a problem for the gig?"

Miranda gave one of her characteristic snorts in replay, "I doubt it. Haven't you ever seen David Xanatos on TV?"

"Xanatos? He's behind this?" Garret asked whistling, "You're moving in some pretty swanky company all of a sudden, Miranda. Isn't he married?"

Miranda rolled her eyes, "Leave it to you Garret. Yes, he's married, to this very lucky woman right here. Fox Xanatos, may I present my dear friend and a great pianist, Garret Lane."

The dark-haired man had the grace enough to look embarrassed as he gave a curt bow.

"Mrs. Xanatos, I was only joking with Miranda, I didn't mean to imply..."

"Never mind, Mr. Lane," Fox interrupted his apology, "I just hope you're as good as Miranda keeps assuring us. Now, let's get going before David starts rolling heads."

They entered the museum lobby and took the elevator to the reception hall at the top of the building. The room was filled with elegantly dressed people being served cocktails and hors d'ouevres. The only sound in the room was the increasing rumble of their conversation. In the center on a small dais, was a shining black grand piano. It emanated quality and Miranda grinned at the covetous look that came into her friend's eyes.

"Almost worth playing for free, isn't it?" she asked coyly.

He raised an eyebrow at her, "C'mon, Miranda, a fella's gotta pay the rent - is this your way of telling me that this gig is gratis?"

"Hardly," the answer came from the approaching David Xanatos with a silent and observant King Arthur in tow, "I take it you're the pianist?"

"Yes, sir, here to tickle your ivories," Garret cracked.

Miranda cleared her throat and hushed her friend with a scathing look that said, 'don't embarrass me,' before making introductions. "Mr. David Xanatos, this is Garret Lane, the best in New York."

Xanatos shook Garret's hand authoritatively and made the business arrangements neatly.

"What I'm looking for is pleasant background music to subdue all this rumbling conversation. The piano is set up for the best acoustics and I'm assured that a moderate volume will carry throughout the room. Do you think you can perform the job."

"Sure," Garret agreed, then casting a sidelong glance at Miranda that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle he smiled and added, "on one condition."

"Garret!" Miranda protested, grabbing her friend's sleeve and speaking at him through her teeth, though she knew both Fox and Mr. Xanatos could hear every word, "This is not a man you dictate terms to. Think of the exposure!"

Garret patted her hand placatingly, "Trust me, 'Randa," he whispered.

Turning back to Xanatos, Garret announced firmly, "I'll only play if Miranda sings."

The woman in question made a strangled noise and covered her face with her hands in a brief moment of mortification. Looking out from spaced fingers she protested.

"Garret, I can't."

The pianist raised a disbelieving eyebrow, "I beg to differ. You most certainly CAN sing."

Dropping her hands, Miranda glared at him in frustration.

"That is to say, I don't want to," she corrected herself, then turned to Xanatos to add, "This wasn't my plan, honest."

He smiled gently and replied, "I believe you, but it does seem an easy condition to meet. I would be happy to hear you sing."

"The world is conspiring against me," Miranda groaned, "Wouldn't having a singer be contradictory to the whole 'background music' idea?"

Before Xanatos could consider the logic of her argument, Garret broke in, "Just one song, to get me warmed up and break the ice with the mucky-mucks. Please 'Randa?"

For the second time that evening, Miranda looked beseechingly at King Arthur for an out, but he was smiling encouragingly.

"It would be a pleasure, Milady," he assured her.

Looking strictly at her friend Miranda said firmly, "One song."

Triumphant, Garret grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the dais calling back to the trio, "You won't be sorry."

"I'm sorry already," muttered Miranda, watching as Garret settled at the piano and played a couple of flourishing scales to both warm up and get the attention of the crowd. Despite her protests, Miranda found her professional ears admiring the acoustics of the room and looking forward to hearing her own voice echoing off the walls. Garret was smiling up at her knowingly and she rolled her eyes.

"Isn't this better than feeling uncomfortable and out of place among all those elite?" he queried.

Miranda had to admit that this man knew her pretty well. She had not been looking forward to trying to keep up with the upper crust, but performing to them was quite a different story. She smiled at him gratefully.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" she asked.

"Well, my dear, I just know you pretty well," Garret smiled, "You know you want to do this."

"Well," she admitted, "I could use a little ego boost. Just one song, though - it's not my event."

"Sure, sure," Garret was grinning in triumph, "what

should we do? Let's see..."

He plunked an intro that might not have rung a bell with anyone outside the music profession, and may have even baffled a few other singers. Miranda, however, had worked with Garret for a long a very nearly successful partnership. A brief romance emerged from the working relationship and when Miranda inevitably realized she wasn't in love, she broke off both connections. To Garret's credit, after a short healing period, their friendship resumed. Now he played an old love song that was familiar to her. She smiled as she began singing.

_"He's a fool and don't I know it,_

_But a fool can have his charms_

_I'm in love and don't I show it_

_Like a babe in arms_

_Love's the same old sad sensation _

_Lately I've not slept a wink_

_Since this half-pint imitation_

_Put me on the blink..."_

She had the audience's full attention by the time she launched into the refrain:

_"I'm wild again, beguiled again_

_A simpering whimpering child again _

_Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I._

_Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep_

_When love came and told me I shouldn't sleep_

_Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I."_

By the time she reached the bridge, she was completely absorbed in the song's words and her own heartstrings - the room fading from her consciousness:

_"Lost my hear, but what of it_

_He is cold I agree_

_He can laugh, and I'd love it_

_Although the laugh's on me_

_I'll sing to him each spring to him_

_And long for the day when I'll cling to him_

_Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I_

_Men are not a new sensation_

_I've done pretty well I think_

_But this half-pint imitation_

_Put me on the blink..."_

By the end she was belting and she got that tingle in the back of her neck that happened when everything was just right in a performance. A feeling that had been notably absent at auditions earlier that day, though she didn't bother pondering the reasons and enjoyed the moment:

_"I've sinned a lot, I mean a lot_

_But now I'm like sweet seventeen a lot_

_Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I."_

As Garret concluded the piece a gentle rumble of applause echoed among the room. Miranda smiled and bowed slightly.

"Thank you very much," she projected her voice like the pro she was, "and most of all, thank you to Mr. David Xanatos without whose generosity this evening and the reason for it would not be possible."

The applause erupted again for Xanatos and the focused turned from the tinkling piano and its performers to where he and Fox stood on the other side of the room.

"Artfully done," Xanatos commented to his wife admiringly.

"Yes - and her voice is stunning. It's amazing that she hasn't ascended higher than the chorus before now," Fox agreed.

"Perhaps she just need a little sponsorship," Xanatos observed.

"David, don't tell me that you trust her now?" Fox asked smiling.

"The jury is still out, my love, the jury is still out."

Miranda was waving over Arthur and moving to step off the dais and into the cocktail party, no longer feeling so out of place.

"Whoever he is, I hate him," Garret commented as he continued to play.

Miranda frowned in puzzlement and gestured towards the approaching king.

"Who, Arthur?" she asked.

Garret looked at the approaching King thoughtfully.

"I don't think so," he responded finally, "I don't think he's here. I'm talking about the man who's finally won your heart."

Miranda laughed, though she wasn't quite sure the subject was funny.

"What are you talking about?" she asked lightly.

Garret looked back at the keys, though he had no need to watch his hands when he played.

"It's a subtle difference, because you were always good - but you're thinking of someone when you sing and it's obvious you love him from your voice - it's more real than I've ever heard you before. You really are 'bewitched,'" he explained.

"Garret, there's no one really," Miranda insisted even as the face of Owen Burnett appeared in her mind's eye.

"If you say so, 'Randa," Garret agreed verbally while his eyes read skepticism.

Miranda opened her mouth to attempt further argument and was interrupted by Arthur.

"My lady, that was splendid. You truly have a gift."

"Thank you, Arthur," Miranda responded smiling graciously and gesturing to her friend, "But I really owe it to Garret. Garret, meet my friend, Arthur."

Garret inclined his head, "Sorry if I don't shake hands, Art," he said, "I gotta keep up the music for Master Xanatos."

"I understand," Arthur smiled at Miranda, "will you sing again?"

Miranda was profoundly relieved that there wasn't an undertone of Royal Request in the question and shook her head. Waving to Garret as she drew Arthur away from the dais.

"Music at a reception like this should remain in the background - vocalizing brings it to the forefront. I didn't come here to perform."

She raised her eyebrows and inclined her head to remind

the King of his quest.

"Ah, of course," Arthur nodded.

Miranda took his arm smiling, "I think we can sneak away for a little bit," she said.

Though she was a bit concerned that they would be accosted by someone admiring her singing, or just interested in the unusual couple she was all to aware they made, Miranda managed to maneuver the king and herself out of the reception hall and back into the main museum. It took little effort after that to locate the wing with the Scrolls of Merlin. Arthur looked through the glass case with boyish enthusiasm.

"They're authentic, I recognize his hand!" he exclaimed, "and the insulting references to me as well, characteristic of Merlin."

"Is there any clue to his whereabouts now?" Miranda asked.

"Give me a moment," Arthur said, scanning what he could of the parchment for a moment before sighing, "Unless I am missing some hidden riddle, I'm afraid these are nothing more than a diary of his time with me before I was taken to Avalon."

Miranda sighed, disappointed, but not surprised.

"Perhaps there's something in the part we can't see?" she asked not as hopeful as she tried to sound.

"Do you suggest we break the glass?" Arthur inquired, challenging both of their morals.

Miranda slumped, "No," she denied, "it would hardly be worth breaking the law it if there's nothing there anyway. There's got to be a way we can get them to unlock the case for us..."

"There you are," Fox Xanatos' velvety voice startled the pair.

"We didn't think we'd be missed," Miranda admitted somewhat guiltily.

"David asked me to gather you two up - he doesn't like his guests to wander off."

Fox sauntered up to them and looked at the glass case.

"I see. Looking up old friends are we?" she inquired of Arthur.

"Something along those lines," he agreed.

"It doesn't look as though Merlin's left a forwarding address," Miranda commented in disappointment.

"Not on the portion showing, anyway," Arthur agreed.

"I see," Fox repeated, "well, come back to the party - I'm sure David will be able to figure something out."

"Of course," David Xanatos agreed when his wife explained the situation a few minutes later, "the museum obviously owes me a few favors. I'll arrange for a private showing tomorrow night after the museum closes."

"Mr. Xanatos, I can't ask that of you," Miranda protested.

"My dear, I think you need a lesson in accepting favors graciously," Xanatos commented, "Besides, I owe you one. Mr. Lane has been excellent."

Miranda smiled towards the pianist whose untiring fingers were spinning out 'Georgia on My Mind' at the moment.

"Yes," she sighed, "Garret is probably my favorite ex-boyfriend."

Xanatos' eyes narrowed, "and have there been many for you to have a favorite?"

The question and its tone caught Miranda completely unawares. She gave the powerful man her full attention. He was testing her, she realized and she wasn't sure how to respond. Beside her, Arthur had stiffened a bit, also recognizing the comment as some sort of modern challenge to Miranda's virtue. Before the King could call Xanatos out on the matter, though, Miranda put a calming hand on his forearm and replied lightly.

"I suppose that depends on what you consider many," she smiled, though her eyes remained wary, "My hopelessly romantic nature has brought me across a lot of frogs in search of my prince."

She squeezed Arthur's arm urging him to let the matter drop. Xanatos watched with interest but did not comment further.

"Xanatos, you simply must introduce us to this charming siren," the minor standoff was interrupted by one of the many party guests.

Xanatos transformed into gracious host again and Miranda found herself being introduced around a high social circle and smiling graciously at the compliments to her singing voice. Arthur, she noted mingled surprisingly well, but then he was exceptionally intelligent and had been living in 20th century London for the past year.

By the end of the evening, Miranda worked her way back to the piano to marvel at her friend's tireless fingers. He grinned at her.

"Here to give them another song to remember?" he asked.

"Oh no," she shook her head, "I said one song and I meant it."

"Well, now that I know that you're in love with someone else, maybe you'll come back and sing at the club sometime?"

"Garret, I told you there's no one right now; and even if there were -- would it be fair of me to work with you?"

"Darling, you must think awfully highly of yourself to believe I'm not over you yet," he cracked, but his eyes held enough regret for Miranda to feel a twinge of guilt.

"Of course, I'm a conceited prima donna," Miranda agreed, "everyone says so."

"Jealousy," Garret dismissed it, "nobody understands you Miranda, that's the problem."

"You do, I suppose," Miranda couldn't resist the curiosity bubbling inside her, "do tell."

"People mistake your insecurities for aloofness - a common affliction among shy talented people," he commented.

Miranda laughed, "Here I thought you were going to come up with some great revelation. That's like Psych 101."

"What do you expect for a two bit piano player," Garret grinned.

"Hardly two bit."

Miranda jumped and wondered how long Xanatos had been within earshot of the conversation.

"In fact, I'm thinking of giving you a bonus for introducing us to Miranda's dulcet tones as well."

"That's gratis," Miranda said, "why should anybody start profiting on my voice now? Particularly if it isn't me."

Fox and Arthur joined them as the crowd thinned; and Miranda used the opportunity to take the King's arm and make excuses.

"I'll let you settle up business while I get Arthur home. I've had a trulydelightful evening," Miranda was surprised how true the statement was.

"Don't forget our appointment tomorrow evening," Xanatos reminded her.

"Hardly," Miranda half-laughed, "it's becoming my reason for being,"

"That girl broke my heart," sighed Garret as she and Arthur retreated.

Xanatos raised his eyebrows at his wife and looked questioningly at the young musician.

"It must have been difficult for you to come here," he commented, "I do appreciate it."

"Oh, I'm over her now, more or less," Garret denied, "In all humility, I like to think I came as close to measuring up to her standard as any mere mortal could hope to."

"A perfectionist, is she?" Xanatos seemed amused.

"Not exactly, it's just -- well, Mr. Xanatos, do you consider yourself happily married?"

Xanatos looked fondly at Fox and took her hand before replying, "Extremely so."

"Why?"

The answer was simple, "Because I've found my perfect match in every way - intellectually, physically - and, you must admit, she's remarkably beautiful."

Garret smiled, "Of course. That's all Miranda's looking for; and she has a certain quality - a spark in her that makes you think she's operating on a whole other plain than the rest of us, well - most of the rest of us. I'm not at all surprised that she's somehow connected with you."

"Oh really?" the question was put archly, but the pianist was on a roll continued assuringly.

"It's not the money and power. You and your wife have the same sort of other-worldly quality. I guess that just sounds like some freak artist-talk."

"On the contrary, it's most insightful," Xanatos murmured almost to himself.

"Anyway, if I'm any judge of Miranda's singing, she's finally hit the mark," he concluded smugly.

"Indeed?"

Garret frowned, suddenly felt he had said too much. Xanatos' strange interest in Miranda's love life seemed unnatural considering his happy marriage. He felt as if he had come out of some sort of trance. The amiability of the wealthy couple and the magical glory of the evening had hypnotized him and he had the dreaded impression that he had somehow betrayed a friend.

"Well - it could be that she's just become a better singer since we worked together," he lamely attempted to cover - but he was sure that Xanatos didn't buy it. Garret made a mental note to call Miranda and warn her against this charismatic, powerful man and kept the rest of the conversation businesslike until he collected his check and made his escape.

"Well - that was certainly educational," Xanatos commented to Fox.

"Yes, though maybe not in the way you think," Fox agreed.

"Come, my dear - what man in New York is more 'other-worldly' than our new friend King Arthur?" he queried his wife, "besides, she's obviously utterly devoted to him."

"Yes, it is puzzling - but it all depends on your definition of 'other-worldly,'" argued Fox, "and she just as obviously was looking for Owen when she saw that we were here."

"Guilt feelings," Xanatos shrugged off his wife's observations.

Fox raised a skeptical brow above her tattooed eye but conceded, "possibly."

"Don't worry my dear," he assured her, "I don't hold it against her that she's enamored of King Arthur. He's about as amazing a man as I've ever met."

Fox smiled wryly, "High praise indeed, coming from you."

Xanatos smiled at his wife's ironic tone and chuckled, "It will be a pleasure to help in his quest."

"About that," Fox slipped her arm through her husband's and they began to depart the museum, "have you forgotten our dinner with the governor tomorrow. We can hardly cancel with him."

Xanatos grimaced and sighed, "How the mundane little details of life escape me sometimes. Well, I suppose Owen will have to handle it..." his brow furrowed, he didn't like the idea of exposing his assistant and friend to Miranda and her King, "I'll have to brief him on this evening. Maybe it will bring a little closure to this whole strange turn of events."

"Right," Fox didn't even bother hiding her skepticism as they left the building to the waiting limo.

Continued...

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	6. Chapter 6 Heroes and Villains

**Puck Meets Girl**

**Chapter 6 "Heroes and Villains"**

The following evening at a later hour Miranda and Arthur approached the museum again. She chattered more cheerfully, trying to keep both their hopes up, although she had a sinking feeling that the scrolls were going to end up being a dead end. Despite that, her good cheer was not feigned. There was something magical in the air and she felt sure that the inspiration that would point them towards Merlin would hit them sooner rather than later. Her sprightly gait faltered when she saw the lone figure waiting at the museum steps. Arthur, noting her abrupt change in mood, took her elbow supportively.

"Something wrong?" he asked her.

Miranda cleared her throat and adjusted her shoulders smiling weakly.

"Not wrong, exactly - I guess I should just learn to expect the unexpected, especially after the last few days."

Arthur's lack of understanding was clear. Miranda gestured her head toward the solemn man at the museum door.

"Mr. Responsible," she said by way of explanation, "he's Mr. Xanatos' assistant."

Arthur caught on quickly and took her hand supportively, "Chin up, lady, he's just a man after all."

Miranda snorted, "Easy for you to say."

Arthur was chuckling as they came into range of Owen. His stony glare caused Miranda's hand to clutch Arthur's reflexively and he squeezed back in return. Their obvious rapport caused Owen's frown to deepen, to Miranda's oblivion and Arthur's amusement.

Calling on her stage training, Miranda plastered a smile on her face and extended a hand to Owen.

"Mr. Burnett, what an unexpected surprise," she crooned.

He took her hand in a brief, businesslike shake and she wondered briefly if he recalled their last contact had been a less than businesslike kiss. Her attempt to search his ice-blue eyes was thwarted by a steel hard shield. He released her hand and turned away before she could penetrate his defenses.

"Mr. Xanatos regrets that he is detained by a previous engagement. He has arranged for a private viewing of the Scrolls of Merlin, if you'll follow me," he explained.

Miranda adapted quickly and responded as coolly as the detached object of her affection.

"Of course, we realize that Mr. Xanatos' time is valuable - and yours."

"My time is Mr. Xanatos' to direct," Owen responded leading them into the museum.

In other words, you're not here voluntarily, Miranda thought as she and Arthur followed him silently to the wing where the Scrolls were kept. Owen produced a key that unlocked the glass casing and handed the scrolls to Arthur's eager hands.

"Your Majesty."

"Thank you, sir," Arthur inclined his head and handed one scroll to Miranda, "milady."

Miranda accepted the scroll and made a face, "Old English script isn't exactly my strong suit," she commented, "but I'll give it a try."

She glanced at Owen speculatively, "I don't suppose you read Old English?"

Owen was tempted to deny the ability. After all, Mr. Xanatos had only instructed him to let the pair in, not

necessarily provide any further assistance. Still, he was sure that his boss would approve any help he

offered. His reluctance was based in the unfamiliar mortal coil of emotions that pummeled him at the sight of Miranda smiling and laughing with the charismatic King Arthur. It was unthinkable and ridiculous and he clamped down on the feelings firmly. Owen Burnett, mortal or no, was not designed to be affected by such trivial and frivolous things as attraction and jealousy.

"I am fluent in most ancient scripts, including Old English," he responded simply and extended his hand for the scroll.

His efforts to squelch his own emotions came undone at Miranda's appreciative smile as she handed the scroll to him.

"We're looking for any possible clue to where Merlin might be today," she explained, "try to keep an eye out to references to the future, no matter how obscure."

Unfortunately, that left Miranda with little to do. She divided her time between wistfully watching Owen single-mindedly poring over his scroll, to the apparent oblivion of all distraction; and encouraging Arthur to spend less time chuckling over remembered times and more time actually searching for an answer. She even suggested they switch scrolls to ensure two sets of eyes had scoured both of them; but both readers came up empty, as she had suspected all along.

"A fairly straightforward account of history," Owen commented, "most references to the future did not go beyond Arthur's own deliverance to...Avalon."

Miranda looked at Owen sharply for a moment. She was sure that he hesitated before mentioning Avalon, and his voice had an almost wistful quality to it. No trace of such emotion lingered on his face, however, and she shrugged it off to her imagination.

"That sort of puts us back at square one," she sighed.

"Don't look so despairingly, milady," Arthur urged, "I thoroughly enjoyed the reading, even if they did not actually bring me closer to Merlin, I do feel as if he's with me now."

Miranda smiled, though her spirits were still downcast, "Thanks, Wart."

Arthur turned to Owen who was already replacing the scrolls and locking the case, "Please tell Mr. Xanatos that we appreciate the valuable opportunity to read these scrolls."

"Of course, your Majesty," Owen agreed with cool politeness.

"So what now?" Miranda asked of the King as they followed Owen out of the museum.

"Well, perhaps Griff and I should return to London. The Stone of Destiny may have sent us here merely to save you after all."

Miranda scoffed at the idea, "I hardly think so - saving my life is no big deal," she froze as she realized that Owen had paused ever so briefly in front of them and remembered that HE too had saved her life.

"That is to say," she amended, "It's not that I don't appreciate it - but I hardly think my life is 'Stone of Destiny' level."

Arthur smiled with gentle fondness; "You underestimate your value still. However, reading the scrolls may have been the Stone's version of sending me to Merlin."

Miranda frowned, "Maybe. I just hate to give up so soon."

"We're not giving up, milady," Arthur assured her, putting an arm around her shoulder, "I will never give up my quest for my mentor and friend."

They stepped out of the museum into the cool night and Miranda presented her hand to Owen for what she feared would be the last time.

"Mr. Burnett, Owen, thank you once again. Please send my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Xanatos and Alexander."

She thought she saw a crack, the merest hint of softening at the babe's name. Then, it was gone and he shook her hand as briefly as before.

"Of course," he responded, before turning on his heel with military precision and striding away.

"Interesting man," Arthur commented diplomatically.

Miranda laughed, "I suppose that's one way of putting it. Obviously he's not interested in me, though," she finished with a sigh.

Arthur said nothing and they walked in companionable silence for a moment.

"I know there's something I'm not thinking of," Miranda sighed, "there's got to be some other clue to where Merlin might be."

"Perhaps - maybe we'll have more ideas tomorrow evening."

"By then, you'll be dead."

The voice stopped them in their tracks, not so much because of the threat as the fact it seemingly came from no where. Suddenly materializing out of the shadows came two cloaked figures. The one who spoke removed his hood to reveal a man whose features were reminiscent of Arthur's, but beardless and lined with bitterness and anger.

"Mordred," Arthur gasped in recognition.

"Yes, Father. Aren't you happy to see me?" the man drawled, "or are you just surprised. Did it not occur to you that Mother would protect me as Merlin protected you?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed and he glanced at the other figure, "Morgan?" he queried.

The woman removed her hood and shook her head.

"Excellent guess, Your Majesty," she said, "however, unfortunately, Morgan was forced to sacrifice her life to preserve Mordred. I'm Nimue."

Noting Arthur struggling with the name, Miranda supplied the woman's identity, "The woman who trapped Merlin in a tree."

Arthur lunged at the woman, "Where is Merlin?"

He gasped as his hands passed through her.

She laughed icily, "All your life around magic and you don't recognize a projection?"

Then she turned to Miranda; "You haven't led him to Merlin yet? How lucky for us all."

"Your luck's run out, Nimue," Miranda declared with more bravado than she felt.

"Oh no, my dear, it's you who have run out of luck. I do admit that you've stubbornly refused to die up until now; but your amazing luck won't help you any more."

"I know enough about magic to know that you shadow can't harm us," Arthur observed, "What are these empty threats supposed to amount to?"

"Father! I'm so impressed, you've asked the right question," Mordred exclaimed.

"You see, Arthur, after Merlin deserted me, I was in despair. That passed and I became determined to destroy everything Merlin had spent his life accomplishing. Mordred became the perfect ally."

"That doesn't explain why you're not here destroying us right now," Miranda observed.

"Yes, well - we've discovered the most amazing thing - Arthur is not the greatest King that ever will be."

"I have never claimed to be," Arthur shrugged, "only the true king of England."

"To be subjugated by the King of All Races," Nimue provided, "even now we have located the child who will

unite the world and as Merlin trained you to be his King, we will train this boy to be ours. He will destroy you all; and there's nothing you can do to prevent it. It's his destiny."

The figures faded back into the shadows in the midst of their own laughter.

"We must keep this child from their clutches," Arthur said, ready for action but looking to Miranda for guidance.

Miranda noted that Arthur's concern was more for the child than his own predicted displacement or destruction.

"Of course we must," she agreed, "but New York's a big city and we have no idea who this boy might..."

Miranda broke off and the color drained from her face as a sick certainty settled in her stomach.

"What is it, milady? Do you know this child?" Arthur asked.

Miranda nodded and whispered weakly, "Alexander."

Arthur nodded, remembering David and Fox discussing their son proudly the previous night, "We must go to him."

Miranda's blood came back in a rush, galvanizing her with both the strength and will she knew she'd need in the next few hours.

"No," she corrected, "I'll go, and with any luck, I'll be able to convince Owen there's trouble. You have to go back to my apartment and get my grandfather."

"Miranda," Arthur said with patient urgency, "I understand you respect the old man, but there's no time and I'm not sure what good he'd do here."

"You have to trust me, Wart," she insisted, "can you find your way to the apartment from here?"

"Yes, of course," Arthur agreed.

"Good. Buzz Grandfather like you did me and tell him that Nimue and Mordred are working together and to meet me at the top of the Aerie building - that's Aerie like eagle's nest - you got that?"

Arthur had commanded armies of men, but he found himself submitting to the steel in this ladies voice like a foot soldier.

"I've - got it," he assured her.

"Good - go!" she exclaimed, turning in the opposite direction and disappearing at amazing speed.

Arthur navigated the streets of New York speedily until he came to the familiar face of Miranda's building and pressed the buzzer.

"Hello?" an old masculine voice floated disembodied to him from the speaker.

"Mr. Templeton?" Arthur asked.

"It's Marcus Emory - Miranda Templeton is my granddaughter. Who are you?"

"It's Arthur Pendragon, please listen - Mordred and Nimue are allied and after a child, Miranda needs your help," Arthur felt awkward in the position of messenger, remembering the days of his youth when he was a mere squire to his step-brother, Kay.

"Come up," the voice seemed resigned in contrast to the urgency Arthur felt as he bounded up the stairs.

When the apartment door opened to him he froze and the wind rushed out of him.

"YOU!" he gasped out.

The old man before him was gray-haired and bearded, though both were neatly trimmed as opposed to flowing. In the place of robes, he wore cotton slacks and an argyle sweater, and reading spectacles masked his sharp blue eyes; but his identity was unmistakable.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed when he could take another breath.

Rather than waste time acknowledging Arthur's accusing stare, Merlin, alias Marcus Emory, pulled his King and student into the apartment unceremoniously and slammed the door.

"Wart, where's your sword?" he demanded.

"At Macbeth's," Arthur found himself sheepishly admitting, "it called too much attention to me."

Merlin grunted, "We'll have to get it. Miranda will be waiting for us - quickly."

Though the situation was dire, Arthur found his heart was light in the presence of old wizard who drew him into a magical vortex that soon had them careening across the city.

Despite her grandfather's many attempts to instruct her, Miranda had only dabbled with her magical abilities, preferring to rely on her own wits. The characteristic was hereditary, she noted, as Merlin himself was known to 'not like magic very much.' Still as she ran through the streets, she regretted not having studied a little harder. Her speed was superhuman, she knew - but a more powerful spell could have transported her faster. She breathed a sigh of relief when she rounded the corner on the block of the Aerie building and saw Owen Burnett just exiting a limousine.

"Owen!" she called, not bothering with any formality.

He turned and she could see his puzzled frown, probably wondering how she had arrived so quickly. Shrugging it off she rushed up to him and grabbed his arm urgently.

"Alexander...Danger," she gasped out.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

This time she took a deep breath before attempting to speak.

"I know this sounds insane, but please believe me," she began, "After we left the museum we ran into the images of Mordred and Nimue babbling something about taking a boy destined to be the King of All Races and raising him to do their will. I don't know how I know - but I'm sure its Alexander."

In less than an instant, Miranda found herself being dragged into the building lobby to the security guards desk. Owen released her hand and started manipulating the keyboard there.

"Impossible," he murmured, "my security system has been breached."

"Trust me, Owen, nothing's impossible," Miranda let sarcasm in her voice mask her fear, "hurry."

They turned to the elevator and Owen punched a code for express. Miranda looked up and gnawed on her lower lip wondering what she could do to make the elevator go faster. Little did she realize that Owen had taken care of that, releasing an imperceptible bit of his own magic to give the lift a boost.

"Are the Xanatoses home?" she asked suddenly.

"They may be - their dinner should have concluded by now," Owen replied briefly, even with magical help, it was a long way up.

"Who else would be with him?" Miranda asked, not taking her eyes off the ceiling of the elevator 'faster, faster, faster.'

"The Gargoyle Hudson," Owen glanced at her when he responded. Her questions, he realized, were designed to distract and comfort as they both impatiently waited for the short trip to end. Her face was drawn and he realized that her concern for Alexander was nearly as urgent and profound as his. This amazing revelation came just as the elevator doors opened and his attention was turned to the crisis at hand.

"The nursery's this way," he gestured and did not wait to see if she followed.

The scene was not a pleasant one. The only hope Miranda was able to take from it was that they were not too late. Fox and David Xanatos were slumped against a far wall, obviously after putting up some sort of struggle. He was conscious enough to smile weakly when Owen entered the room, but she had been hit on the head and was completely limp. Mordred was collapsing a shelf full of toys on an old gargoyle and Nimue was approaching the cradle after apparently disposing of a gargoyle-dog of some sort.

One of her grandfather's few lessons came to Miranda in a flash:

'Always remember that a good magician doesn't rely on his or her eyes - but if both your vision and hearing is degraded, you can be in serious trouble.'

Grabbing a quilt off the changing table, Miranda flung it over Nimue, hoping the thick blanket would muffle her hearing long enough for her to dash over and grab the witch woman.

"Give it up, Mordred!" she called.

"Well, well, if it isn't my father's current slut. Not to worry, my dear, he'll tire of you as he did all the others," Mordred's leer sent shivers through Miranda and she unconsciously relaxed her grip on Nimue.

"Although," he continued smoothly, "you look as if you might last longer - if you ever want a man who can really appreciate a woman..."

Mordred's lurid taunting was cut short by Owen's stone fist, which connected to his jaw with a nauseating crunch. The wizard-warrior bounced back, though; and soon the two men were circling each other, looking for an opening.

Owen was surprised how satisfying that punch had been, particularly since it had very little to do with protecting Alexander and everything to do with Miranda. It was bad enough to hear her referred to as Arthur's slut, crudely confirming his worst fears; but to hear it even suggested that she might eventually turn to Mordred was intolerable. Owen landed a kick in the other man's gut. Mordred's resilience under his onslaught was superhuman - it was Owen's first clue that there was more magic at work than the basics. He began to alter his strategy and wondered how long it would be before he would be forced to play his trump card. Not long from the looks of it. A cry distracted his attention and he barely dodged a blow to the head. Circling, he saw that Nimue had broken free from Miranda and pushed her to the floor. As the woman reached into the crib for Alexander, Owen knew he could wait no longer.

"Stop!" he cried, sending a bolt of energy to push the witch away.

The conscious humans in the room, including Miranda, stared. A glowing nimbus of light surrounded Owen until it engulfed him completely and when it subsided, Puck stood in his place, his imp-like features strangely stormy.

Nimue recovered first, "So, you are the child's protector, Puck? I had heard Oberon was wroth with you. What an unexpected pleasure."

"Speak for yourself, hag," Puck's scowl deepened.

Miranda sat dumbfounded on the floor. Did Nimue just call this elf-like creature Puck? Did that make Owen Puck? She looked back up at the stormy faced faerie with his long flowing white hair, pointy ears and child's features. She didn't have time to ponder things further as she noticed Mordred pulling something from his cloak.

"Owen...uh, Puck!" she cried, "lookout!"

Her warning came a split second too late as Mordred caught Puck up in a strange shimmering net. Puck gave a muted cry of frustration.

"Mother always said know your enemies and be prepared for anything," Mordred told the ensnared fae.

"Too bad you haven't done either, Mordred," a voice from the nursery door admonished.

"Grandfather!" Miranda called smiling.

Arthur was already approaching her and helped her to stand. He was back in his medieval get-up, Miranda realized, and she suspected that her Grandfather was responsible.

"You have some explaining to do, milady," he hissed.

"Not really the time, Wart. Besides, how could I go against his wishes."

"Merlin," Mordred was saying, "do you think we didn't expect you?"

"Perhaps," Merlin acknowledged, "but there is much you haven't prepared for. Your mother was a poor student, at best, she must have been an even weaker teacher."

Incensed, Mordred rushed toward the magician, but Arthur met him halfway.

"You know, son, you really have to work on your temper."

While they struggled, Merlin took the opportunity to consult his granddaughter.

"What has happened?"

"They had already neutralized the building's defenses by the time we arrived. We started fighting them - but they have powerful magic. Then Owen became Puck," Miranda paused a moment to shake off the strangeness of that fact, "then Mordred trapped him in that net."

Merlin looked at the lump on the ground, "It must have iron in it - we'll have to set him free, he's no good to us bound in there...and Nimue?"

"She's..." Miranda turned to point in the direction of the witch to see nothing, "She's gone! Oh my God, Grandfather, Alexander!"

Miranda was racing out the nursery and down the hallway before Merlin could speak another word. Assuring himself that Arthur was holding his own with the bastard, Mordred, Merlin bent over the iron-mesh net and pulled it off the faerie.

"Hello, Puck, long time no see."

The faerie king's messenger sprang from the ground demanding angrily, "Where is the child?"

"That way, I think," Merlin pointed, "At least, that's where Miranda ran off to."

Puck dissolved into a handful of sparkling light, which streamed through the wall in the direction indicated.

Having only been in the house once before, and then only a portion of it, Miranda wasn't sure where she was. She felt certain that whatever force guiding her had her on the right track, there was no room for doubt in matters this important. Her confidence was rewarded when she rounded a corner and saw Nimue, carrying Alexander, at the other end of a long hallway.

"Nimue!" she cried, halting the other woman who turned and smiled falsely.

"Ah, Miranda. Is it finally your turn to die?" she asked sweetly actually walking back towards Miranda.

Miranda closed the gap between them further, "Give me the baby, Nimue, you can't hurt Merlin with him..."

"Oh you are so wrong, Miranda. How could Merlin have allowed such ignorance? This child will be a King greater than Arthur ever dreamed of being. He'll revere me as his mother and Mordred as his father - together we'll destroy you and Arthur and everything Merlin has worked for and loves. He'll be sorry he betrayed my love."

Miranda saw a flicker of light and the image of Puck materialized behind Nimue. The witch did not appear to notice and Miranda knew she had to keep it that way.

"Your love!" she exclaimed, "You never loved him - you trapped him - held him prisoner. That's not love!"

As Miranda lectured she moved closer to the crazed witch-woman. She didn't dare look at Puck, but felt somehow certain what she had planned was what he required of her.

"You're wrong. Merlin stayed with me willingly until your grandmother seduced him away. He taught me his secrets. Our love was pure. You are the result of a foul betrayal and I will destroy you!"

Nimue raised one arm to strike a magic blow; but before the energy could gather in her palm, Miranda pounced.With a dancer's precision, she executed a hitch-kick landing her boot heel in Nimue's face. Then she snatched Alexander from the stunned woman's one-armed grasp and spun away, instinctively shielding the child. Blinding beams of energy streamed from Puck's hands eyes and mouth, striking Nimue forcibly so that she screamed and collapsed.

Miranda looked up cautiously from where she huddled with Alexander. Puck was hovering over the still body of the witch as if daring her to move. Alex giggled, drawing Puck's attention away from his victim. Upon seeing the child safe and happy, a new and much more natural expression crossed the faerie's face. He smiled. Miranda grinned, though she was still too stunned to fathom it all. She floundered for something to say, but a commotion down the hallway distracted her. Breaking her gaze away from Puck, she looked back to see Mordred running towards them, alone.

"Oh, no, Wart!" she exclaimed, not seeing the faerie's eyes narrow at her show of concern for the King.

To her relief, Arthur rounded the corner just after his son, but not in time to stop him. Mordred scooped up Nimue and disappeared in a puff of smoke. With a cry of frustration, Puck disappeared also.

"How cliché," David Xanatos managed weakly. He and Fox approached the scene slowly with Merlin's support. Hudson followed under his own power.

Arthur sheathed his sword, looking grim.

"Mordred has always lacked originality and imagination."

The King offered a hand to Miranda who let him help her up. Then, she carried Alex over and handed him to Fox.

"None the worse for wear, I think," she said.

"Knowing my son, he probably enjoyed the whole adventure," David Xanatos smiled proudly at his son.

"He takes after both parents in that regard, I think," Miranda agreed.

"Nothing like heredity," Xanatos agreed, "Speaking of which - is he really THE Merlin?"

Miranda smiled proudly at her grandfather, but waited for a nod from him before answering, "The one and only."

"And you're his actual granddaughter?" Xanatos managed to convey disbelief without offense.

Merlin answered, "Miranda's grandmother found me in the enchanted tree where Nimue imprisoned me. Having some druidic background, she found a spell to free me and we fled Nimue's wrath to America. We married and had a beautiful daughter - Miranda's mother."

"Sorry about the deception, your Majesty, but Merlin didn't want you to know for some reason," Miranda glared at the old man.

"The timing was wrong, my dear," Merlin defended himself, "it still is - but this little fellow has thrown a wrench in the works." He gestured almost fondly at Alexander.

"What exactly is it about the lad that Mordred and Nimue found so compelling?" Arthur queried.

Fox exchanged a glance with her husband before answering, "My mother is actually the faerie Queen, Titania. Alexander is very gifted from that bloodline."

"What about you?" Miranda asked.

"Oh, no," Fox shook her head, "I've only shown any sign of my heritage when Oberon tried to take Alex away from us. That's when we came up with the compromise."

"Which was?" Arthur prompted.

"That Puck would stay as Alexander's teacher and protector," Xanatos explained, "Of course, Oberon banished Puck eternally from Avalon and limited his ability to use his powers only when he's teaching or protecting Alex."

"Not a very good deal for Puck," Merlin observed sympathetically.

"So," Miranda ventured, finally making sense of the evening's events, "in a crisis like tonight, or when he's showing Alex magic tricks he's Puck - and the rest of the time he's Owen?"

"Basically, yes," Xanatos confirmed.

"Oh brother," Miranda groaned putting her hand to her head as someone with a headache, "can I pick 'em or can I pick 'em?"

"Something troubling you, milady?" Arthur asked gently.

"Oh, no, not really," Miranda let sarcasm ring through her misery, "I'm just in love for the first time and wouldn't you know it? It's an impossible situation."

"Why so surprised, Little one?" Arthur asked, removing her hand and raising her chin so their eyes met, "If I remember correctly, Puck is known for his irrepressible sense of fun; and you've already said Mr. Burnett is the soul of responsibility. It's the exact impossible situation you've been looking for."

Miranda's blue eyes widened like a child's as she realized what the King was saying. Because Owen was Puck, he was her perfect man. Had she known this instinctively from the beginning? Still, because Owen was Puck, it seemed impossible that he could love her back - not if he was anything like the trickster taunting the lovers of Athens in A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. She began to tremble and tears came to her wide eyes. Arthur took her into his arms comfortingly.

"There, now, it's not as bad as all that," he might have said more but at that moment Puck reappeared.

"I lost them!" he bit out sulkily, his features darkening further seeing Miranda in the King's arms.

Miranda took a moment to gain her composure, then turned to Merlin, "What about it, Grandfather? Can we find them?"

"If Puck lost the trail, it's lost for now," Merlin said shaking his head, "however, I doubt they'll be coming back any time soon. The boy is safe for now."

"They won't find the target so easy to reach next time," Xanatos said grimly.

"Thank you for your help," Fox added, handing Alex to Puck who examined him carefully.

The faerie smiled fondly at the boy, "He's fine," he declared.

"A stout lad," Arthur complimented, clapping Xanatos on the shoulder, "If his destiny is to usurp me, I'll abdicate gladly - provided he remains in the best of care."

"He does have a quality," Miranda admired the baby in Puck's arms, trying to control the catch in her chest at the sprite's obvious devotion to the child, "I can only dream of having children like him someday."

Puck made a sour face, "Ah yes, the future Princes and princesses of England," he said in a surprisingly malicious tone.

"Puck, that's enough!" Fox said sharply, "take Alex back to the nursery, we're done with you."

Quite suddenly, Puck smiled and bowed, "Your wish is my command!" He proclaimed, then took off hovering down the hallway, baby in arms.

"Is he always like that?" Miranda asked, feeling more hurt than she cared to admit by the spiteful tone.

"Puck's mercurial nature is a bit hard to keep up with," Xanatos admitted, "but he has had a trying day - what with Alexander and -- other things."

"Other things?"

"Oh, just say it, David!" Fox burst in exasperation, "He's just jealous; and he's behaving like a spoiled child because as Puck he can."

"Jealous?" Miranda made a confused face, "of what?"

"Of me, my dear," Arthur said, "that is where the comment about the princes and princesses of England came from isn't it, Lady Xanatos?"

"That's how I see it," Fox agreed.

"Me and Wart? Where'd he get a dumb idea like that?" Miranda scoffed, then with a sudden realization she looked apologetically at the King, "Oh, God, sorry, Wart. It's not a COMPLETELY dumb idea."

Arthur smiled with fond amusement, "Of course not, but all things considered, not the wisest idea either."

"Wait a second, if he's jealous..." Miranda brightened a bit, "Maybe I ought to set him straight."

"Not so fast, young lady," Merlin grabbed her shoulder just as Miranda was about to give in to the urge to go sprinting down the hallway to the nursery, "We've got some things to discuss back home."

"Grandfather! I've got a situation here!" Miranda protested.

"Yes you do. King Arthur is awake before a need for him has arisen. We need to decide how to approach this. I need to go home and consult my books; and you need to follow through on your commitment to the King. Come on now, we've imposed enough on the Xanatos hospitality."

"How can I leave with Owen thinking I'm in love with Arthur?" Miranda cried.

"My dear, Puck's lived at least twice as many lives as I. A few more days waiting won't hurt either of you."

"Surely we can make do without her tonight," Arthur suggested sympathetically.

"Nonsense," Merlin's stern side was evident, but he knew that the sooner things were settled amongst the three of them, the sooner Miranda would be free to fulfill her own destiny, "Miranda knows her first duty."

Miranda sobered under the steady gaze of the old man, yielding to his authority.

"He's right, Wart, my first duty as Merlin's progeny is to ensure the education and survival of the Pendragon line," she spoke the words as if they were a mantra drilled into her head from birth.

An uncomfortable silence seemed to follow and Miranda found herself speaking again irritably.

"Well, if we're going to go, let's go, please," she turned to lead them back to the elevators.

Fox elbowed her husband unceremoniously.

"Ow! Ahem," David Xanatos recovered quickly and with a quick glare at his wife spoke out, "Wait, we can't let you go without thanking you properly."

"No need, really," Merlin said, smiling a soft, knowing smile out of Miranda's view.

"Of course there's a need. Please, you must join us for dinner tomorrow night - all of you."

Miranda turned and looked David Xanatos in the eyes. For the first time since she met him she saw encouragement there. Not just the charm he reserved for strangers, but genuine friendship and support. She looked at Fox who smiled and winked. Finally, she looked eagerly at her grandfather, feeling like a child offered a ride on a pony and desperately seeking permission from her parent figure.

"I believe we will at least be able to send a representative," Merlin agreed, taking Miranda's hand a squeezing it, "I'm not a tyrant, after all."

"Grandfather!" Miranda exclaimed with a laugh as she embraced the old man.

"Excellent," Xanatos beamed, "we'll see you tomorrow at seven, then."

Too happy to respond, Miranda only smiled and nodded at the couple as she and her two companions entered the elevator and departed the building.

None of the humans had noticed Hudson slip away during their conversation. The old Gargoyle stumped after the faerie Puck towards the nursery. By the time he arrived, the battle torn room had been restored to its former elegance and the faerie had been replaced by a sullen looking Owen Burnett.

Snorting, Hudson commented, "I always knew you were a fool, laddy."

Owen managed to reclaim his customary supercilious air before replying, "Indeed?"

"Aye," Hudson nodded, "Tell me now. Is Puck always so nasty, or is it just the lassie that brings it out in ye?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Owen lied smoothly and rose to leave, hardly in the mood to spar with the old gargoyle, "now if you'll excuse me..."

"It's not my pardon you should be beggin', lad," Hudson persisted, "You'll find a kind word to the lass will make more headway than this childish sulking."

This was too much, Owen thought to himself. He was reduced to receiving romantic advice from a crusty old warrior-gargoyle. He made for the door again, but Hudson blocked his path and it was obvious that he was waiting for some sort of response.

"I'll...try to remember that," Owen hoped he didn'tsound too sarcastic.

Hudson looked skeptical, but stood aside emphasizing, "See that you do, lad, see that you do."


	7. Chapter 7 Some Enchanted Evening

**Chapter 7 "Some Enchanted Evening"**

Miranda was surprised to see Fox at the door when she arrived at the Xanatos penthouse the following evening.

"Don't you have servants to do these things?" she cracked nervously.

"David and I are very minimalistic that way," Fox said with a smile, "and right now he's convincing Owen that he has to join us for dinner."

"Doesn't want to, eh?" Miranda's nerves seemed to wind even higher.

Fox's smile grew sly, "He believes we're having three dinner guests and I guess he doesn't want to intrude."

Miranda rolled her eyes, "Please let me get through this night," she sighed.

"Relax, would you - you look terrific, by the way - you're going to knock the poor boy dead."

Miranda smiled in appreciation at the other woman's compliment. The dress was one of her few splurges in her wardrobe, a black crushed velvet off the shoulder number with a full tea-length skirt that made her small waist look even thinner. She put a nervous to her bare throat.

"Thank you. I know it needs something at the neck, but all my jewelry is of the costume-variety and I wanted everything to be real tonight," she admitted.

"Quit worrying, would you," Fox assured again.

"Right, right," Miranda nodded, thinking she had never felt stage fright even remotely this nerve-wracking. Trying to take her mind off her nerves, she re-directed the conversation to a safer subject.

"And how is the little prince this evening?"

Fox beamed with motherly pride; "He's wonderful as ever. Care to go to the nursery with me to check on him?"

Miranda readily agreed and was amazed to see the room was fully restored, with no trace of the previous evening's events. A small gargoyle with webbed-wings was leaning on Alexander's crib watchfully. He looked up when they entered and smiled at Fox.

"He's all right, but he doesn't seem to want to sleep."

"Probably hoping for another adventure," Fox commented dryly reaching into the crib and pulling out the happily fussing boy, "Lexington, this is Miranda - Miranda, Lexington."

Miranda shook the gargoyle's hand, "pleased to meet you."

"You're the lady who saved Alexander last night?" he asked.

Miranda half-laughed, "I wouldn't put it that way - but I guess I helped a little."

"I'm pleased to meet you, too," he declared.

Miranda smiled in acknowledgement and moved to mother and child.

"Please go to sleep," Fox was crooning, "this is very important to Mommy."

The unrepentant boy was tugging at his mother's earrings and showing no signs of drowsiness. Over his head, she winced and then rolled her eyes at Miranda.

Miranda smiled back and then asked hesitantly, "Do you mind if I try singing to him?"

Fox's eyes widened, "are you kidding? I'd love it if you'd sing to him - even if it doesn't work!"

She handed her son over, smiling again at how well Alexander took to Miranda. 'It's almost as if he knew before anyone else that she belonged with us,' she thought.

"So what do you want to hear," Miranda asked Alexander earnestly. She tilted her head in consideration for a moment before smiling with satisfaction.

"Got it," she said, taking a moment to clear her throat before beginning her lullaby.

_"Stars shining bright above you, _

_Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you.' _

_Birds singing in the sycamore tree,_

_Dream a little dream of me._

_Say nighty-night and kiss me, _

_Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me. _

_While I'm alone and blue as can be,_

_Dream a little dream of me._

_Stars fading, but I linger on, dear,_

_Still craving your kiss._

_I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear,_

_Just saying this -_

_Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you,_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you._

_But in your dreams whatever they be,_

_Dream a little dream of me."_

After running through the song, Miranda began to hum the tune watching semi-triumphantly as Alexander settled and his eyes began to blink, ever so slowly staying closed longer than they were open.

Unobserved in the doorway, Owen watched as well. He had meant to interrupt the song and call the ladies in to dinner, but that idea was swept away the minute Miranda began to sing. Mr. Xanatos had mentioned her talented voice, but hadn't realized how powerfully moved he would be. He watched as she enchanted the baby as neatly as she had him. Moving out of the doorway and into the hallway he leaned against the wall and admitted it finally. This woman had enchanted him, with no effort at all. She was magic. He had seen it in her azure eyes, as pure as the skies and seas in Avalon; and he heard it now in her velvet voice, weaving its spell in the nursery. More than that, this bewitching woman of the mortal world had invested herself in his family. It was obvious in the way she held Alexander - she would give her life for the boy. How could he not be completely captivated by her? Not that it mattered, like his own magical powers, this magical woman was denied him, except in fleeting moments like this one, which were as agonizing as they were enjoyable.

In the nursery, Miranda began to softly sing the words again, pushing Alexander over the edge into sleep.

_"Stars fading, but I linger on, dear,_

_Still craving your kiss._

_I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear,_

_Just saying this -_

_Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you,_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you._

_But in your dreams whatever they be,_

_Dream a little dream of me."_

She handed the sleeping boy over to his amazed mother.

"I have to admit, I hardly hoped you would be so effective," Fox whispered, placing her son back in his crib.

"That was amazing," Lex agreed in hushed awe.

"Thank you," Miranda smiled, "I've always wanted to sing a baby to sleep. The ultimate audience, so to speak."

"Well, I'd say you got rave reviews."

In the doorway, a composed Owen cleared his throat quietly.

"Dinner is ready, Mrs. Xanatos," he announced.

Miranda's throat went dry and she hoped there wouldn't be call on her to sing again that night.

"Thank you, Owen," Fox was saying, "we'll be right there."

She turned to Lexington; "We'll just be in the dining room. Call us if there's trouble," she instructed.

"Don't worry - I'll take care of him," Lexington assured her.

Fox turned to Miranda, "Come on, it's just dinner."

'Then why do I feel like I'm headed to an inquisition?' Miranda wondered.

Xanatos held her chair for her in the dining hall, "Won't King Arthur and Merlin be joining us?" he asked in well-feigned surprise.

Miranda allowed the actress in her rise to the occasion,

"No, they decided to go to Macbeth's fortress. Wart's

been staying there and he felt he owed Macbeth

something. I guess the old Scot is gaga to meet my

grandfather for some reason," she shrugged.

Xanatos chuckled and insured everyone was settled before

seating himself.

"I think a lifetime of exposure gives you an interesting

perspective on your grandfather's popularity. Still,

Macbeth is something of a sorcerer himself, and that's

probably where the interest lies."

"Well, I'm all to happy to avoid an evening of spell

swapping," Miranda said with a laugh.

Xanatos raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Oh? You don't

share your grandfather's talents?" he asked.

"Actually," she admitted modestly, "According to

Grandfather, I do have a certain amount of latent

ability. He's taught me a few minor incantations; but

his first lesson to me was to never rely on magic and I

learned it so well I haven't let me teach me much of

anything else. Whatever talent I have magically mostly

manifests itself in amazing luck..."she hesitated and

her eyes shifted surreptitiously to a silently brooding

Owen, "...in most things anyway."

"How have you been unlucky?" Fox asked.

Miranda looked startled for a moment - she had been

thinking of her love life, but didn't feel that was the

proper course of the discussion just yet. Thinking on

her feet she laughed.

"Mostly my career. CATs was my big break, really - even

if I was just one of the Kitty Chorus. I guess you can

look at it a couple of ways. It was a professional

disaster when the theater burnt down - but lucky in

other ways."

"What about the call backs you told us about?" Fox

asked, while Miranda tried to see if her final comment

had an effect on Owen.

Bringing her attention back to the conversation, Miranda

answered, "Oh that was a long-shot to begin with - I

never expected to get it, it's progress just to get

called back."

"Ever think of giving it all up?" Fox asked curiously.

"Oh sure, and I know I will someday. Grandfather was

against it from the start - he thought I was talented

enough to get really famous - he said it would interfere

with my higher purpose."

"Higher purpose?" Xanatos asked, eyebrows raised.

"Some obscure destiny he feels sure is in store for me,"

Miranda explained.

'Future Queen of England, no doubt,' Owen was thinking

miserably, though he kept his thoughts to himself.

"I see," Xanatos pondered the information, "but if

Merlin was against it, how is it that you pursued the

career anyway?"

Miranda chuckled, "Well, it was the one time I defied

him. I guess I just charmed him into agreeing. What

can I say, he's my Grandfather, I naturally have him

wrapped around my finger."

Xanatos grinned in response, "I suppose considering the

past week's events you'll be giving your career up

anyway."

It was an opening, Miranda realized and she took it, "I

don't think so. Grandfather's in perfect health and

he's got the Arthur-thing well in hand now. It's back

to the cattle-calls for me."

Aside from a slight hesitation while cutting his meat,

Owen showed no signs of paying any attention to them.

Miranda sighed and continued, "Not that I relish it

any."

Xanatos exchanged a glance with his wife before asking

the next question, "Have you ever considered

television?"

Miranda blew air out of her mouth disparagingly and

responded with a resounding, "No."

She glanced at Fox then apologetically, "Not that I

don't enjoy watching it. I don't mean to sound like a

snob, but there's something about performing on a stage

to a live audience that I don't think ever translates,

even with a studio audience."

"Don't worry, I'm not insulted," Fox said with a

sophisticated smile, "I told David you would never

agree."

Miranda frowned at the pair, puzzled, "Agree to what?"

"I thought we might work up a show for you at Pack Media

Studios," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Miranda gaped, "What?"

"I wouldn't want you to do anything you didn't believe

in," he commented smugly.

Miranda laughed suddenly, "Oh boy, did I ever put my

foot in that. There's probably not a chorus-girl alive

who wouldn't kill to have an opportunity like that drop

in her lap."

Then she waved her hand as dismissively as her host,

"Not that it matters, I would never accept the offer, it

would be taking advantage of your friendship."

Xanatos sighed with world-weariness, "How did a

scoundrel like me ever manage to surround himself with

so many highly moral people."

Fox smiled affectionately and patted his hand, "It's all

right, dear, I love you anyway."

Miranda smiled and watched as Xanatos took his wife's

hand and looked up at her with a mischievous and adoring

smile. Her chest felt a twinge of envy and she lowered

her eyes to her plate, afraid she would never see such

devotion in the ice-blue eyes at the end of the table.

And so the evening progressed. Xanatos, in annoyance,

finally directed a couple of questions at Owen in an

effort to draw him out. The man stubbornly answered in

as close to monosyllables as he could. Miranda found

her own mood growing increasingly sullen and edgy by

dessert.

Finally with a sigh, she gave in. The night was almost

over and she might as well admit it.

"Well, Mr. Xanatos, Fox, it's been a lovely evening. I

love the rooftops and always wanted to know what it

would be like to stand on top of all of New York."

"You're not quite there yet," Xanatos said, his double

meaning clear to her, "To really feel you're on top of

the city, you need to go up into the castle."

"I'd love to, but I don't want to put you to any more

trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," Xanatos said simply, "Owen

will take you."

Miranda's eyes widened and she realized that this might

have been Xanatos' plan, or at least his back-up plan,

all along. She nearly jumped across the table to hug

the man.

Owen, meanwhile, was protesting, "Mr. Xanatos, really,

there are a few items of business that should be

attended to..."

"I'll take care of it myself, Owen. You show Miss

Templeton the castle. With your extensive knowledge of

its history, I'm sure you'll be much better able to

answer any questions she may have than we could."

His tone brooked no argument, and Owen realized that his

vow of a lifetime of service prevented any real debate

on the matter anyway.

"Very well," he capitulated, pushing back his chair and

looking at Miranda expectantly, "shall we go?"

If she had been surer of herself, Miranda would have

insisted he hold her chair; but for now she just pushed

it back herself and scurried to follow him out the door.

She glanced back briefly to see an encouraging wink

from Fox.

"This really is the top of the world," she commented

once they had arrived and she was looking over the edge

of the castle into clouds, with peeks of the city lights

below.

Owen barely grunted in response. Miranda decided to try

another tack, looking at him out of the corner of her

eye as they walked side by side.

"I feel as if I could close my eyes and transport myself

to the castle's heyday. I wish Grandfather could see it

- I love to see him reminisce about the old days. Of

course, I suppose this castle is considerably younger

than he is."

"Considerably," Owen agreed.

It was a single word, but progress in Miranda's eyes.

She continued her subtle attack on Owen's armor.

"It's just as well he took Arthur elsewhere tonight. I

was beginning to worry that poor Wart was getting the

wrong idea," it was an out and out lie, but it did the

trick.

Owen stopped in his tracks. Miranda paused too.

"Wrong idea?" he asked.

Miranda hoped the smile she was suppressing wasn't

dancing wildly in her eyes.

"Well, you know - I really felt like it was my duty to

help the King connect with Grandfather; but the old

wizard was stubbornly refusing to meet him. So I was

spending a lot of time alone with him. I thought he

might be getting the idea that I had romantic feelings

for him."

As she trailed off, Miranda continued walking, not

pausing or waiting for Owen to catch up. He did in a

moment, with quick strides, she noticed.

"One can see where that might happen," he said with

caution in his voice.

"Mmm," she agreed, "especially when a man hasn't been

around women for more than a thousand years. I needn't

have worried, though. Now that he's found Merlin, the

King's perfectly happy with the old wizard."

'The more fool he,' thought Owen; but said nothing.

They walked on in silence for a few moments. Miranda

growled inwardly with frustration. Apparently knowing

she wasn't involved with the King was not enough of an

opening for the stubborn idiot.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" she finally

queried.

His eyebrows raised, but before he could respond, she

continued.

"Well, I guess it could be considered a scholarly

question about the historical accuracy of dramatic

literature - but you might consider it a personal

question."

His curiosity piqued, Owen inclined his head and agreed,

"Perhaps you had better ask."

"Well, from what I've heard, Macbeth is not very much

like his character in Shakespeare's play - and I was

wondering - how accurately he portrayed - well, YOU for

one, and Oberon and the rest..."

"In what way?" he asked.

"I mean," Miranda went on to explain, "The play is

obviously one of my favorites - probably because I knew

it could all be real. For example, I always thought

Puck put the juice of the flower in the wrong Athenian's

eyes on purpose just for the fun of it..." she looked at

him expectantly.

"Well," his answer was evasive and his eyes shifted in

obvious discomfort, "you have to admit that Oberon's

instructions weren't very specific - it was a man in

Athenian garments after all."

Miranda gaped, "Oberon had no way of knowing there was

more than one Athenian couple in the forest - I'm right,

aren't I - you did it on purpose!"

He didn't answer, but it was obvious by the guilty look

on a face that rarely registered emotion of any sort.

He marveled at it. No one could possibly read that play

and make such assumptions about Puck without a great

deal of knowledge of his nature - or incredible

instincts.

Miranda scolded him lightheartedly, "That was a horrible

thing to do. Didn't you know the kind of heartache a

person can go through loving someone who doesn't love

them?"

Her joke struck a chord, she saw. He looked stung, and

his color may have drained; though it was hard to tell

in the moonlight.

"I didn't," his response was back to the solid dry calm

characteristic of Owen Burnett; but Miranda found

suddenly that she could read between the lines. He

didn't then, but he did now - or at least imagined he

did.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, "Lord what a fool this

mortal be!"

"I beg your pardon?" Owen asked, wondering if, given a

chance, he would ever get used to her random spouting of

Shakespeare.

She squared off in front of him; "You still don't get

it, do you?"

"What?" he asked.

Miranda threw up her hands, "That I'm in love with

you...you big Fool!" she exclaimed.

The shock registered.

"Oh yes, I know it sounds ridiculous," she acknowledged,

"we barely know each other and we're ostensibly nothing

alike, though you have to admit there's more to you than

meets the eye. Anyway, I knew by the time you put your

coat on my shoulders that first night and I've been

thinking of nothing but you ever since. Not that it

matters because apparently nothing registers with you!"

She reeled away in disgust and fear, but didn't get a

pace away before a hand grabbed her wrist and reeled her

back. She found herself nose to nose with the man.

"Say that again."

There was a strange sort of urgency in his voice. She

decided it was combination of a demand and a plea.

Reflected in those cold eyes, she thought she saw a

unique blend of doubt and hope. It was then that she

knew her gambit had paid off. She relaxed a bit and

shook her head in denial.

"It doesn't work that way, my dear Puck," she said,

punctuating her final three words by poking his chest

with a finger of her free hand.

Then, rather than quote from Shakespeare again, she

spoke the title of one of his plays, "Measure for

Measure."

Her meaning was clear to him. He released her wrist and

she stepped back enough to give them both some air. She

waited patiently - there was all the time in the world

now.

She didn't have to wait long.

"I love you, Miranda."

It wasn't the most passionate declaration she had ever

heard. He didn't even seem the least bit surprised by

it. In fact, he stated it simply - as if he were

quoting a fact from a computer. It was perfectly Owen.

Miranda loved it. She grinned at him impishly.

"Was that so hard?" she asked teasingly.

He raised an impatient eyebrow and said just as simply,

"Please."

For less than an instant, she considered the idea of

toying with him further. She dismissed the idea as

counter to her own purposes and smiled at him fully for

a split second before throwing herself into his arms.

He caught her up as naturally as if they were born to embrace each other.

"I love you, too, Robin Goodfellow," she declared before

pulling his head down for a kiss.

In his office, David Xanatos found his view of the

embrace suddenly blacked out. Looking to the doorway he

saw Fox dangling a remote.

"Really, David, I think we have to talk about these

voyeuristic tendencies of yours," she chastised

teasingly.

"I was only making sure everything turned out all right.

Owen was beginning to worry me," he commented.

"Yes, well - who put the idea that Miranda was in love

with King Arthur into his head?" Fox asked with mock

accusation.

He had the grace to look sheepish, "All right, darling,

you were right and I was wrong. Are you happy?"

"Aren't you?" she asked him.

He looked at the blank screen for a moment and then said

in wonderment, "Merlin's granddaughter."

"Yes, I know," Fox agreed.

"And she's ours," he said.

Fox laughed, "Owen's actually."

Xanatos looked slightly embarrassed and amended his

word; "You know what I mean. She's with us."

"Yes, dear," Fox agreed and lowered her voice sultrily,

"now, come to bed."

Xanatos smiled appreciatively and followed her to their

bedroom suite.

On the castle, Miranda leaned against the outer wall and

watched the shadowy figures of the gargoyles returning

to the castle.

"'O brave new world, That has such people in't!" she

breathed.

Beside her, Owen looked down with fond amusement,

"Quoting yourself this time?" he asked.

She laughed and smiled up at him.

"I suppose as a virtuous woman raised on an island by a

wizard, I have something in common with Shakespeare's

Miranda; but I think that's where the similarity ends.

In fact, I would have much preferred my parents named me

for one of his stronger female characters - like

Beatrice or Rosalind or even Kate the Shrew. Instead

they choose the naïve and vacuous Miranda."

"It's a beautiful name, with a musical and magical

quality," he declared, "It suits you."

Miranda felt her breath catch in her throat and gazed

more deeply in his eyes. It was there, that look of

adoration that she had longed to see - open and for her.

She smiled at him joyfully.

Owen thought the brilliance of her smile might very well

turn the gargoyles to stone. He pulled her into his

embrace.

"If you say so," she said, twining her arms about his

neck, "I won't complain about it again."

Their kiss was cut short by the fluttering of gargoyles

landing around them. As they pulled away from each

other, Miranda couldn't help feeling like a teenager

caught making out in her parents' living room. She

grinned privately at Owen, whose manner was back to his

public stoicism, but his eyes glistened with answering

humor.

"Miranda?" the voice was a familiar one, and obviously

incredulous at what it saw.

Miranda smiled at the red gargoyle, "Hello, Brooklyn. I

was here for dinner and Owen was just..uh... Giving me a

tour of the castle."

She almost burst out laughing at herself.

"Uh... Right," Brooklyn nodded half knowingly and half

bemusedly.

The awkwardness was rescued by the large stately

gargoyle who approached with authority.

"You are Miranda Templeton?" he half-asked.

Miranda nodded and extended her hand, which he grasped,

"and you're Goliath. I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Thank you for your assistance protecting the castle

yesterday evening," he declared.

Miranda flushed with embarrassment, "Really, I didn't do

anything."

"Lass, I was there, it was your actions that saved the

babe, t'be sure," the old gargoyle interrupted.

"I must agree," Owen said, a hint of pride creeping into

his voice.

Miranda cast him a brief smile before turning back to

the gargoyle, "Hudson, right?" she asked extending her

hand, "thank you. I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to

meet last night."

Hudson shrugged off the comment, "'Tis to be expected in

the heat of battle, lassie. I've got the feeling

there'll be plenty of opportunities to get to know each

other."

"I hope so," Miranda agreed.

Goliath continued the introductions; "this is my

daughter, Angela."

"A rose among thorns," Miranda declared and the female

gargoyle smiled shyly.

"And Broadway..."

Miranda grinned and declared, "my favorite street in

Manhattan."

"And of course, you know Brooklyn."

"My own personal Gargoyle-knight protector, I think,"

Miranda said with a wink at Brooklyn who smiled widely

in return.

She returned to Owen's side and was surprised and

pleased to feel his arm come about her waist.

"So," she asked the gargoyles in general, "was the crime

scene in the city unusually quiet tonight that you're

all back so early?"

"Early?"

"Lass, it's near dawn."

"What?" Miranda's eyes widened and she looked at Owen

sheepishly.

He checked his watch, long ago forgotten, and nodded to

confirm the gargoyles' words.

"Oh, brother," she sighed and turned apologetically to

the gargoyles, "I guess it's true what they say about

time flying. It's been a pleasure meeting you; but I

know you need your sleep and I have to get going."

She found herself dragging Owen towards the stairs. He

kept pace with her easily.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I've got to go home," she told him.

"Home?"

"Yes, home. With any luck Grandfather and Wart stayed

up all night at Macbeth's. Still, he'll be expecting

me."

She looked up at Owen and laughed at his bemused

expression.

"What did you think, that we love each other and that's

the end of it?" she asked.

His face went blank as he realized how simplistic the

idea was.

Miranda put her arms around him lovingly.

"Darling, Owen," she said assuringly, "it's not the end.

It's just the beginning."

(An: I am thinking of making a sequel to. But I first want to see what you guys or girlsthink of this story. So if you want me to make a sequel. Type a simple yes or no and tell me what you think about the story. If you want me to give ideas on howto proven the sequel pm your ideas or post them with your review)


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